In our small town with its lone radio station, Wilbur was something of a celebrity. He was the sound effects man for our radio dramas, but this doesn’t do him justice. He could reproduce any sound without relying on the use of hammer-on-coconut for horses’ hooves and similar mechanical tricks of the trade. Wilbur produced every sound required with his voice. Small wonder our town dubbed him ‘The King of a Thousand Voices.’
Continue reading “The King of a Thousand Voices by Larry Lefkowitz”
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21 August 1902 and 2017
When the moon occluded the sun 42,005 days in the future, Lewis Coughland became self-aware in the Legend of Emma Wick. He had known that this would happen, but it was still a surprise to awaken in the mind of the great love of his afterlife as she stood on the deck of a ferry, clutching her sleeping two-year-old daughter, Mary, to her chest.
Continue reading “A New Book of Numbers (Part II) By Leila Allison”
I have mentioned on many occasions character names and how shit I am at coming up with them. Why do some writers go for the exotic? There are plenty people called Mary and Jimmy out there so why not use them?
Continue reading “Week 143 – Ugly Babies, Parricide And Upsetting Freddy”
We saw it coming the whole time. Chase was a nice enough guy; he just wasn’t cut out for this line of work. We watched him fail over and over, everyday. For a while we tried to help but there were just too many mistakes and most of them were pretty big. It would have been a full time job minimizing the damage he caused. When he had to answer to Fisher in the morning meetings he’d stammer out fragments of explanations he hoped one of us would jump in and finish. None of us ever did. We couldn’t. We were as blown away by his mistakes as everyone else. All we could do was look at our shoes and hope he wouldn’t cry again. That only happened a few times but that was enough for all of us.
Mary deadheaded the bruise-brown marigolds with a quick jab of her small shears, accepting a certain amount of collateral damage. Finger-pinching took too long.
Continue reading “Just the Way She Likes It by Sharon Louise Howard”
This is getting close to a mile stone. I’ll tell you about in around four weeks time!
I’ve got an admission to make. There is a reason I thought of this posting but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. I’m sure it was a submission.
Continue reading “Week 142 – Inner Dialogue, Naked Neighbours And Being Assertive”
Oh man! That was the Mother of all nights out. What a headache! I can’t remember much about it. Must have been a great night!
But, where am I? In a place with dark carpets, velvety wall paper, fussy gold mirrors. Some woman’s house, I suppose. A sexy babe who whisked me back to her place for a night cap and a game of Hide-the-Sausage. Was it the surfer chick from Bondi in the barely-there bikini? Talk about hot. And the way she rode those waves. I’d better find a mirror to see how bad I look and whether I need a shower. Don’t you hate it when the girl gets her first peek at you in daylight and throws up?
I stare into the fire, tendrils of heat swirling around my face.
It is the first time I will do this. I had anticipated growing inherent wisdom, like that of the elders, but here I am at a ripe age and still rendered witless by the task ahead of me. Adulthood is a farce.
The good professor eyed my dessert. He’d been quiet up to then, waiting for his order. He and his lady friend were delighted when their cold tomato soup arrived. Then he pointed to my wife’s plum and apple crumple and expressed interest. I noticed how he eyed my wife’s tits, too.
Eastern B.C.; nestled in the heart of the thick-treed Kootenays; a small, mountain town; winters cause hands to callous, to bleed.
Twenty minutes from town there is a small log home. A child and a lycanthrope live there. She is small, ashen, could disappear into the snow if it weren’t for her dark hair. They once lived with a woman, too. The woman didn’t know what the little girl knows, that the man they lived with turned into something uglier and beastlier when the white moon grew fat.
literally stories 