This week we have another real treat when we take a look into the mind and deep thoughts of one of the founding editors of the site. The creator of Stormcrow – when are we getting another one everyone cries! – We always knew he was was a lovely person (in spite of his rugby preferences – but then he doesn’t have much choice given the land of his birth) he’s a great writer and just all round top bloke. Ladies and Gents and I give you Mr Nik Eveleigh.
Continue reading “Sunday Whoever”
Here we are at week 481!
The year is trundling along quickly although April and May have been going on for ever. Well, a good six weeks up until now!
I took long walks into the insomniac’s night. Wild music thumped on the deserted sidewalk. I peered into the smeary barroom window. A man in coveralls slept with his head on his arms at a table. Pool balls cracked next to his ear. Angry hairy faces, full of booze were engaged in the battle of the green felt, and blood may spill. I walked onward before I drew some menace from the watering hole. Then I met the traveler on a starless street corner.
Continue reading “A Starless Street Corner by Christopher J Ananias.”
On Saturday, Mark ate breakfast with me before heading to work, even lingering in deference to the weekend. A month earlier, I’d fled our apartment for two nights to call attention to my despair, but exactly nothing had changed. I wondered if our small life could be enough.
Continue reading “Breathing Underwater by Katrina Irene Gould”
A neighbour two down from us was the only person we directly knew who lost someone. A family member that is. Even though just a distant cousin of theirs, it tore their family apart. Just like it did many families, and how it changed the whole fabric of how we live. Looking back on it now you wouldn’t think such an innocuous job could matter so much, that it could change everything about how we live, but it did. Of course, the tragedy of so many going like that is the main thing, the sheer lack of explanation to this day and how we do things now is borderline unfathomable. Most of all though, I think about our neighbour’s second cousin, just one of thousands, an estimated sixteen thousand, but knowing someone who knew one of them, who left us on that day, just makes it so close.
Continue reading “The Trolley Workers by Paul Kimm”
Frederic was learning how to live in the nothing. The world was tactile, it was the thudding of bare feet on hardwood floors and the sprinkle of misty rain on skin, and it was olfactory, chicken cooking on the stove, peonies, paint thinner. The sounds of his parents murmuring at night and his own name in the news on TV were muffled and far away. There was pain still in his eyes and head, pain that ebbed and flowed, but in his pain-free moments Frederic was the happiest he had been in years.
Continue reading “Hands, Eyes, Feet by Annabel Moir Smith”
Lucian didn’t want to comply.
He didn’t want to climb off his horse. Take off his sword. Or throw his money pouch on the ground. He’d been searching for the petty varmint who had stolen his property all day under the scorching rays of a bitter sun. The search left him frustrated. His heavy black robes left him sweaty and tired. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, which he very rarely was, he would have to admit that he just wanted to go home and take a nap in his cool cave and forget the whole ordeal. But certain threats had been made, kingdoms put on notice, graves robbed, damsels abducted, so, unfortunately, he was rather beyond the point of simply stopping. In short, he needed his stolen parcel retrieved and a certain level of theatrics were required to do so.
Continue reading “Lucian Boneknitter and The Bandits by Austin Roberts”
Translated from the Korean by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton
Continue reading “Three Miniatures by Hwang Sunwŏn”
Tabula rasa, the blank slate, has taken a new meaning in the courtyard. One recent morning I left for work and saw a Red Cat of maybe four months in a window. Almost indigestibly cute, he was a war with the window shade and was, judging by the bent to hell slats, winning a decisive battle.
Continue reading “Week 480: Tabby Rasa and Cat Commandements”
Before data can be captured, it must be desired
Steve F. Anderson
He came out of the tunnel and there she was, perched at one of the patio tables of the Greenleaf Café. Even from that distance her long, jointed legs and oversized sunglasses recalled the grasshopper he’d met that very morning on the bike path.
Continue reading “Pulse by Gregory Golley”
literally stories 