My boss leaned back in his chair and gave me a blank, wordless stare. Not an unreasonable response to “I think the binturong ate my condom.”
Continue reading “The Binturong Blues by Ann Marie Potter”
Tag: Short Fiction
At the Zoo by Gil Hoy
It’s late in the afternoon in late October. I’m at the zoo with my ten-year-old son, Elijah. His mother, my wife Sally, chose our son’s name. Sally comes from a religious family and goes to Mass daily. Elijah’s staring at the elephants, the largest land mammals on earth. One of the three is particularly massive. He has a huge head, large ears, and a long trunk that is sucking up drinking water from a big puddle of rainwater. My son and I have been coming here most weekends as of late. Ever since I lost my better paying job and Sally started working part-time. I’ve been coming here since I was a small boy. Elephants have been a main attraction here for as long as I can remember.
Continue reading “At the Zoo by Gil Hoy”
Mind the Gap by Angela Townsend
There are facts as cool as gravity: If you drop a jam lid, it will fall jammy-side down. Humans make many myths. The guy who takes senior photos will be the single creepiest guy your senior has ever met.
Continue reading “Mind the Gap by Angela Townsend”
Heirloom by Natalia Pericchi Paga
There are pieces of the past I keep on her behalf. I tie my hair in a bun and start humming a song while I concentrate on lining my lips. The kids are asleep, the dishwasher is working, the counter is wiped, the door is locked. I am getting ready to talk to my grandmother over Zoom. Preparing to reconnect. I haven’t seen her in a while. When I think of her, I remember the cigarette smell, the afternoons sitting on her lap while she watches T.V., the feeling of her long, red nails running gently through my back, up and down. I remember her evening routine.
Continue reading “Heirloom by Natalia Pericchi Paga”
You Don’t Remember Me, Do You? By Alex Kellet
We were in the same class at junior school. You were only eight years old, I was nearly nine when you moved. I sat behind you. You were so clever; you used to be the first one to answer the teacher’s questions. I used to try and get close to you so I could copy your work.
Continue reading “You Don’t Remember Me, Do You? By Alex Kellet”
Week 495 – My Luvvieness, ‘Theatre Of Blood’ Is A Classic And A Holy Man Against The Master Was No Contest!
Week 495 has crept up, PUNCHED us in the gut and is now LORDING it’s AUTHORITY on us!
What that means, I haven’t a clue – I just went for something a wee bit dramatic…Okay, maybe ‘pish’ is the word that I should’ve used! I reckon Vincent Price could have done that line justice though!
Anyhoo…
Continue reading “Week 495 – My Luvvieness, ‘Theatre Of Blood’ Is A Classic And A Holy Man Against The Master Was No Contest!”
Guitar Lessons by Otto Alexander
Sometimes I feel sick remembering how I talked to him. I want to go back and shake myself – No, Robert! No! Cut it out! But I did and I can’t undo it. Besides, he only ever mentions it in passing and when he does I sort myself out. I suppose he thinks I might shout again, but I don’t want to. I hated that I did.
Continue reading “Guitar Lessons by Otto Alexander”
Time Capsule by Leland Neville
I was recently involved in the death of a man right here inside the Free Library.
He began making bird sounds near me. The cawing and trilling made it impossible to concentrate on my writing. When I moved, he followed. The bird songs grew louder and more long-winded.
My father, a Marine, told me that bird noises reminded him of a battle he fought inside a dark nameless jungle. Birds, he learned the hard way, unintentionally telegraph your location to the enemy. I am now older than my father was when he died inside our garage.
Continue reading “Time Capsule by Leland Neville”
Workshop by Lesley Warren
It wasn’t much good, the thing that was him. No wonder he was screwed up now. No wonder He’d unmade him, rolled him out like dough and balled him up again.
Continue reading “Workshop by Lesley Warren”
What I Will Not Become by Harrison Kim
I’m talking with Mrs. Everton, the anorexic faced one-lung Grandmother puffing cigs by the wood stove as snow falls outside. She tells me more blizzards fell in years past, we’re not snowed in yet. She coughs, continues again in that smoky voice; my best friend Keith’s over by the fridge laughing with Lori Baker. Lori’s Mrs. Everton’s niece, black haired, pale faced, arms thin as branches stuck from a frost covered sapling, and fifteen years old.
Continue reading “What I Will Not Become by Harrison Kim”
literally stories 