There weren’t many restaurants Harold still tolerated. Most were too crowded – like the buffet down the street which clearly had a busing arrangement with the local nursing home. Others were just too damn expensive. Harold also hated theme restaurants, anything cooked with cabbage, and food from countries that bordered the Mediterranean.
Continue reading “Just Desserts by Andrew Rodgers”
Anna sat quietly watching through the two-way window as the patrons marvelled at her paintings in the gallery below.
Everyone stopped at Vienna. The piece she kept in the old wooden chest with her sentimental collection.
Continue reading “Vienna by Karen Uttien”
This week’s whoever has been a wonderfully quirky and enthusiastic supporter of the site for a long time now. We first published Doug Hawley in 2016 and he has been with us submitting, reading, commenting, and generally getting in the way since then. Have a look at his back catalogue.
Continue reading “Sunday Whoever.”
Everyone needs to cry. Everyone needs to cry because it is not easy to live by simply breathing in this modern world. Everyone becomes upset by something, usually the smallest things that went wrong. Something that was out of their control, something that was not scheduled. An argument with a lover on the morning breakfast table. A sudden insult from a close friend that went too far and the thoughts following the insult going even further inside the mind. It’s the small things. Usually.
Continue reading “Half Moon Above Seoul Central Park by Yejun Chun”
Before my Hinge date I amuse myself by making faces in the mirror. I purse my mouth like an overripe strawberry, beckoning future rot. I slide oil through my hair, expensive oil that’s supposed to be very different from the grease that will seep through the roots after two days without a wash. A few minutes before sunset I slip on my combat boots and trendy trench coat and we’re out the door, me and the fragile home of my body.
Continue reading “Teeth by Amy Katherine DeBellis”
A Hermit-Crab Hiding In the Shape of a Husband
Continue reading “On Warmoesstraat, A Triptych by Antony Osgood”
The skirl of Citizens Arrest fills the stairwell of my walk-up. The electric guitar twangs and pulses through the walls; my key chain vibrates in the door lock, sending judders up my arm, rattling my teeth. I thump on my neighbor’s wall.
“Sorry, cielo!” Manolo yells.
The music stops but my head still throbs.
Continue reading “The Laws of Attraction by Carol Willis”
Before I begin, I need to thank Leila for taking on my turn last week – I’ll come to the reason why in a moment.
I wonder what the difference is between me (Or those of my age / those who think the same) and some / most of those fledgling writers?
When I was first accepted on a site, I delved in and had a look. I was curious to see what and who they published. I wanted to read the stories of others and if there were any comments, I especially wanted to seek out those folks works especially.
It was a privilege that I was proud to be part of and I wanted to familiarise myself with as much as I could.
Continue reading “Week 427 – Having A Swatch, As You Can See, I’m Shit At Text Speak And Dirty Minds Rule!”
Dan Bonner used his right hand to toss two keys to the moss-covered forest floor of Happy Valley Forest. The keys lay there glinting among the twigs and dead leaves. The throw sealed his purpose, to set his mind and body free from chance. He stood naked, one foot and one wrist handcuffed to a birch trunk. The forest stood so thick here, he could barely see the sky. That was the way he liked it, all the empty blue blocked so he could focus on the shade around him.
Continue reading “By the Beautiful Pond by Harrison Kim”
The usual doubts arrive as I cross the street, heading for the corner of Abbeville Road. This seemed like the right thing to do an hour ago, sitting in a pub on the South Bank, toasting our anniversary with a third glass of wine. But now I’m here, all I can imagine is another rejection.
Continue reading “A Door with a Thousand Locks by Ed Dearnley”
literally stories 