Tag: Short Fiction

Editor Picks, General Fiction, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 533: Private Games and an Ode to Bill

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I engage in a strange activity when no one is watching. When I see a small stone on the sidewalk I will choose an area then give the pebble an “accidental” kick in that direction, which is never farther than two feet away. I ask myself “Will everything be alright?” as I hit it with my foot. Nothing else happens after that. I cannot remember when it began, sometime in junior high school, I know that. What it means used to exist, but I can no longer get to it. This happens a lot. At least a half dozen times a day for over fifty years.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

To The Bone by John Whitehouse

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It was close to midnight and the diner was empty of customers when headlights swung into the parking lot. They whipped in fast, off the county highway and Dana heard the squeal of brakes on the gravel out front. She looked up from behind the counter and peered through the window. A man and a woman climbed out of a dark sedan. They looked to be in their mid to late forties and were bundled up in winter coats and mufflers, the woman carrying a big fancy leather purse.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Spade by Andy Larter

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There’s a right clattering in the yard. Hold my breath and stand stock still. Then I turn round, put my eye to a crack in the door and I see a black van. One of them with sliding doors. And there’s that gold lettering. Swinford’s Tea and Coffee: Pure and Robust. My mouth’s sticky with thirst. Haven’t even thought of a drink of water, let alone tea. And there’s some bloke in a grey coat clambering out of it. Same colour as them clouds. Could be camouflage on a day like this. He’s a a tall bloke. One of them that stoops his neck when he walks. Takes his cap off. Looks like he’s lost. He has shiny, rusty coloured hair. Brylcreemed. Wipes his nose with back of his hand. I step out the door.

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Short Fiction

Park Bench by Ameer Toor

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He sat on his usual bench at the top of the hill, a wooden seat framed by wrought iron, perfectly positioned under the spreading shade of an oak tree. From this vantage point, the extensive park rolled away in green waves, stretching toward the river winding lazily through a neighbourhood of opulent estates. Grand homes, hidden behind walls of clipped hedges, exuded an air of quiet affluence, while two nearby mansions stood conspicuously empty, their owners absent for years. He often marvelled at the indulgence of leaving such places untouched—silent monuments to wealth and those who had far more of it than they needed.

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General Fiction, Short Fiction

There Are Just Too Many Places I’ve Got To See,’ Jack Says

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“You can’t see anything going that fast, especially at night.”

“You can see everything going that fast, especially at night.”

Nora has no idea what Jack means. He drives the speed limit back to her apartment and drops her off.

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All Stories, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever – House Rent Boogie – An essay by Dale Williams Barrigar

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Like all great story-telling, John Lee Hooker’s “House Rent Boogie” can make you feel much better about yourself, if you’re willing to meet Hooker half way. In a country filled more and more with what Noam Chomsky calls the “precariat,” or economically disadvantaged folks who live paycheck to paycheck, dwelling to dwelling, meal to meal, buzz to buzz, never knowing, as Henry Miller put it, when the chair will be yanked out from under their rear ends, and they will be tossed out into the street again, Hooker’s “House Rent Boogie,” also known as “House Rent Blues,” can offer solace and encouragement to many of us. This kind of story-telling shows what story-telling is really for, which is helping the human species to make its way in this world while we struggle to survive our allotment of days here on the rapidly warming earth.

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Crime/Mystery/Thriller, Short Fiction

Crime Wave by Simon Nadel

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The seagull cocked his head and purred. He dropped his beak into the sand but didn’t seem to find anything worthwhile. He put his head back and squawked loudly at me.

“Sorry buddy,” I said. “I don’t have anything for you.” It was the same way I used to talk to Jeter.

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All Stories, Short Fiction

Digital to Analog Conversion by Bud Pharo

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Annie never imagined she could have feelings for anyone—she wasn’t built that way, literally. As a first-generation Alpha-Lima model designed for general off-world service, she wasn’t capable of having independent aspirations, much less emotions.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Day the End of the World Was at Hand by J Bradley Minnick [1]

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“I’ve signed you up for swimming lessons at the Y.M.C.A. Lessons start Monday. That’s tomorrow,” Mother said as I stood on pretty pink petals that lined the ground of our backyard jungle. A late spring snow had just left the rooftop of our home. The gutters were filled with brown, wet leaves. Father stood high atop a wooden ladder. Looking up, I saw his blue jeans and the dirty soles of his shoes. Mother stood under him, holding the bottom rungs. She wore a small bee-hive hairdo, a plaid shirt, and black slacks. Every so often a clump of leaves exploded in a burst behind me. 

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

In the Flames by Christopher Ananias

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Reader Alert – Adult content 

They rush us up the hill to safety like a herd of Caribou moving past the basketball courts. Sirens whoop in all directions. Black smoke pours out the windows—oxygen is key—she is really going now. Gilbert smiles. Gilbert is deranged. His brother killed eight people at the Lilly Street Mall.

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