“Everyone is going to stare. Don’t make eye contact or speak to anyone. They’ll ask for money.”
“What about family?”
They’re even worse. Just look mean.”
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Tag: Short Fiction
Week 552 – A Black And White Thief, A Couple Of Questions And Orange Juice.
Week 552
I think I learned something this week that surprised me.
…Should that be ‘learnt’?? I always get those two mixed up.
I was made aware that it’s only British folks who salute a lone Magpie.
Is that correct??
Continue reading “Week 552 – A Black And White Thief, A Couple Of Questions And Orange Juice.”
A Dog Named Job by Peter Biles
The city of Nodding had built the eight bullet trains in case the day of the bomb ever came, and when the day did come, to the horror of all, Jennings was at Pet Smart to buy dog food.
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Eclipsing Indy by Christopher Ananias
A lot of strange people flowed into Indianapolis for the solar eclipse. Not to mention, the “I-70 Killer” circling the city, with his fangs out, on the long swooping bypasses. The teenager Treat met Roger, a religious drug addict, at a Spaghetti joint on Lex Avenue.
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A Final Thing by Adam Kluger
She wants to meet on Friday at a restaurant.
We have to talk.
About what I wonder.
Could it be that after all these years she has had enough?
Enough of buying groceries and cooking you delicious meals
Enough of walking in the park
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Waiting for Robert Nix by Héctor Hernández
The discovery of skeletal remains in the woods near the Quitipea River has brought back memories of Robert Nix. I knew him as a kid and thought he was just weird at first—we all did, even the teachers. It was only later that I—and I alone—discovered he was actually insane; I just didn’t know the depth of that insanity, not back then, anyway. I know now.
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The Great Escape by Frederick K Foote
I do it on a cold December day in Oakland, California. I sign the papers and pass the physical. In three days, I will belong to the United States Air Force, my freedom from her and her freedom from me.
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Literally Reruns – Tom Sheehan
Tom Sheehan has written in every possible genre over his seventy year and counting career as a writer. And sometimes, as with today’s story, The Ghosts at Horseshoe Creek, he will blend two together.
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Week 551: The Attack of the MWCM; The Week That Was; A Belated Happy 80th to Debbie
I was riding the bus last week when I was attacked by a MWCM, which stands for “Misty Water Colored Memory” (lifted from that gooey Barb song she sang before she got the perm that made her look like “Arnold Horshack” on Welcome Back Kotter–a dated reference but very true). As you have likely guessed MWCM is a sarcastic term. It defines an elderly concept in my “Ago” that is always attempting to change me into a sniveling old Shrew. We all have something like that inside (or will once fifty or so comes creeping), an ugsome, nettlesome something that (apparently) has invested heavily in old Shrew futures. I cannot kill mine but I can temporarily beat it to atoms by using my hard, old cold heart as a hammer. I often take satisfaction in imaginary acts of violence. They keep me balanced.
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Not Such a Weird Duck By Adam Kluger
Into the cab
In a daze
Leaving the bar
About to take leave of my senses
A complete lightweight all these years later
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