In the summer of 1997, when most men of his age were discovering the quiet dignity of cholesterol, Gopal Banerjee decided to make a perfume that would outlive death itself. Not metaphorically, he meant it quite literally. “Eternity,” he called it, though Calvin Klein had already used the name. Gopal didn’t mind; he believed trademarks were for those who lacked vision.
Continue reading “The Scent of Eternity by Susmita Mukherjee”
Andy put down the phone on his sister, though she was still sobbing intermittently. They’d already been talking for half an hour; he realised that there was no more comfort he could offer, til he saw her tomorrow at the undertakers. And he needed a break to process her news of their father’s death. So, booted and rain-proofed, he headed out the door for a familiar walk beside the river.
Continue reading “Beside the Dying Ash Tree by Michael Bloor”
Harry Pembroke, 67, a retired PE teacher came to London from Gobowen. It took him five hours to reach the capital; he had missed one of his connections. He felt really clever though when he arrived to his destination. He had paid for his tickets three months ago, used his National Railcard, and was able to save quite a lot of money with his advance booking: instead of £317 one way which he would have paid had he bought the tickets right before his trip at the station he had only paid £143 return. These numbers kept him warm and happy when he walked out of the train terminal into the cold November drizzle.
Continue reading “Happy Point by Sergey Bolmat”
She’s in the middle of the street – a blur, a twirl, of color, this woman with a boombox. She’s not safe behind barricades or idling in a car as the rest of us are. She wears no coat, no makeup, shielded only by her floral dress.
Continue reading “The Dancing Woman by Bradley J. Collins”
(An excerpt from Lights Out Lizzie)
Author’s Note
After joining Women of Wrestling, Gertie McDowell, a naïve Kentucky girl with a talent for misadventure, has been crowned the “champion of the world.” She acquired this title after taking on former “world champion,” Samoa Moa, and knocking her out with a head butt. Gertie did not do this out of malice but because Moa, a bitter behemoth of a woman, was wrestling too aggressively and has a history of injuring her opponents.
Leo Hawke, director and pitchman for World Wrestling Productions, is so impressed by Gertie’s “triumph” that he stages a rematch in Afghanistan for the entertainment of American troops. Prior to the match, Gertie and Moa are bunked in the women’s barracks where they attract new fans.
Continue reading “Fresh from Slaughtering Kittens by James Hanna”
“Did you see the Facebook postings I sent you?”
“Yes, she looks a handful! There are some wonderful pictures.”
“What about the Instagram pictures or all the memes?”
Continue reading “Chloe by Hugh Cron (Adult Content)”
Here we are at Week 574.
I can’t believe that the first week in March is already now over.
Idiot gardeners are outside tiding up. They’re wasting their time. March is a sneaky bastard of a month. You think the weather will get better but it doesn’t. Rest assured we will be in for gales and snow. Twice I spun my car off the road and both times it was in March.
Continue reading “Week 574 – Satanic Third Month, I Never Mentioned S.O.B, And Impossible Travel Insurance.”
Gregor hesitated at the door of ‘Till Dawn Night-Club’. He took a deep breath and walked in. Two rather large gentleman walked over to him.
“Don’t think you should be here pal! We’re fucking shut.”
One stood in front of him and the other guy moved slightly to his side.
He took a deep breath, “I know. I’m not here for any trouble, I was just wanting to speak to JoJo.”
“Is he expecting you?”
Gregor looked round at the other man.
“No…”
‘Well fuck off then!!’
Continue reading “Godfather JoJo By Hugh Cron (Adult Content)”
“I hate this fucking job!” Rob, the disgruntled night security guard, muttered to himself as he did his rounds in the empty department store.
Continue reading “Seasonal Angst: High Drama in the Diorama by Bud Pharo”
Windy and me were digging the back garden of another new kid who’d just moved in to Horseshoe Walk. This time it was on the other side of the garages, opposite my house. I didn’t play with Windy normally because he hung around with the little kids, so I’d been a bit taken aback when he knocked on my door and asked me if I wanted a job. Sitting in our conservatory that day he’d also showed me how there were naked ladies hidden in magazine adverts if you looked at them the right way – Martini and Cinzano bottles were the best. We found pictures of Mrs Cropper in Mum’s Women’s Own too. Not naked, but modelling fancy dresses which was weird when you considered what a complete tip her house was. He told me his cat had come back as well after disappearing for twelve months, rattling their letterbox late one night to be let in just the same as she always had, although there was something strangely different about her now, he said, fixing me with his wide puffy eyes. Windy wheezed like an old tap on those rare occasions he played football with us, or handled a spade, but I began to think I’d underestimated him.
Continue reading “A Builder’s Tan by Mark Czanik”
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