Tag: short story

All Stories, General Fiction

The Suburban Vision Quest by Alex Colvin

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To prepare for the trial ahead, the boy must fast for three days.

On the third day, there is a ceremonial feast that begins the quest. It marks the beginning of the boy’s ascent to manhood and it marks the beginning of the Suburban Vision Quest.

In the lands of suburbia, in the whitest and most complacent of Canadian suburbs, the Suburban Vision Quest has arisen to bring isolated families together so that they can celebrate a child’s elevation to adulthood. It also doubles as a harsh lesson that spoiled suburban kids shouldn’t complain that their house is so big that it needs two Wi-Fi routers. The young men and women of the suburbs fulfill this quest to prove their worth and to prove to their overbearing parents that they are ready to move out.

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All Stories, Fantasy

A Single Grain Of Salt by Nik Eveleigh

Nik

Other than dying, there aren’t too many things I recall about my sixth birthday. I know I had a new bike because I was riding it when I was killed. It was green with black trim and it had one of those little single chime bells you could twang with your finger to warn off pedestrians who had stumbled into your path. I can’t remember if I chimed it at the car that was heading to the crossing too fast or if it got hit by some part of the car at the same time I was struck but I know it was the last sound I heard. Still, it was a proper big boy’s bike that I could grow into; except, of course, I didn’t.

Sorry, I should probably clear a few things up. You see, I’m not dead. I’ve had plenty of other birthdays and plenty of other presents. Never a bike though. I just couldn’t face it. Besides, dad was always a runner.

When I lived in London I heard that you were never more than three feet away from a rat. It’s a bit like that with cyclists around here Danny. Continue reading “A Single Grain Of Salt by Nik Eveleigh” →

All Stories, General Fiction

The Louder You Scream by Martyn Clayton

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Every girl loves a showman reckoned Big Micky Taverne.

Stand behind their car as the waltzer takes a group of them up and down. Watch as they huddle up, heads rested on shoulders, screaming in unison. One if not all will be giving you the glad eye, willing you on. Come on they’re saying, give us a spin. So, you do and they scream so loud it would burst your eardrums if they weren’t already bust from the music.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Deep End by Sarah Dara

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Note: There is some Urdu used in this piece. Translation is provided at the end of the prose.

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My toes sank into the warm sand. I wiggled them in deeper, walking toward the fierce body of water ahead. The sand became cold and wet. Wind blew against my face; echoes of the past whispering in my ears. I brushed my hair aside and started to move towards the ultramarine waves. My family called to me as I neared the sea. Shouts of ‘what are you doing,’ ‘come back,’ ‘it’s too dangerous’ were heard spreading in the wind, but I kept going. Waves tickled my feet as I wandered deeper and deeper. The sand beneath my feet vanished and I was paddling. The sea enveloped me. Waves struck me violently. I was deep enough. I stopped paddling.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Dudes Chilling by David Turko

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It was a few weeks ago I made the conscious decision to start trying. After that things went miserably downhill. My girlfriend that I now realize was hardly my girlfriend – more like girl I slept with semi-regularly – left me; I was fired from my mindless dead end job – which was somewhat liberating until I realized it meant I was unemployed; I was broke – which is surprisingly common among twenty-somethings but that didn’t make it any more tolerable; and I was having mood swings that made me question my sanity. I was feeling the dreaded weight of the real world settle on my shoulders and I knew this wasn’t something I could just shrug off.

Without a job, girlfriend, or any money, I did what any responsible almost-adult would do and moved back in with my parents in my hometown of Vancouver. My parents were cordial, and kindly informed me I had two weeks to find a place before they would start charging rent.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Caught in the Act by Thomas Godwin

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Nathan sat in the corner, in the lone chair of the hotel room, facing the door. An open pack of Marlboro Reds along with his cell phone sat on the end table beside him. Smoke drifted from a cigarette held loosely between his fingers. The ash had grown long and drooped down from the red cherry.

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All Stories, General Fiction

A Day in the Life of a Sandwich Artist by Tom Roth

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I got up from the floor and glanced at the frozen lake. In the morning, the sunlight streaked across it like bright scribbles of yellow crayon. I saw yellow spots all over the cabin.

“You got a little too mcskunk last night,” Wiley laughed, pressing empty beer cans to his chest. Wiley was big. His body was shaped like a bulb baster.

B was small and just flushed the toilet. “Mcskunkess is up. How ya feelin’, bitch,” he smiled as he walked toward me. B had a patch of frizzy hair that looked glued to the top of his head.

“Um,” I said.

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Latest News

Week 110 – Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics

Nik

Another change for week 110 so I’ll get on with the reviews and then explain myself.

We had a mix of horror, markets, a ‘legal’ killing, a fishing technique and a town’s history.

Only one new person this week. As usual, our initial comments follow.

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All Stories, General Fiction

In the Diner by Fred Skolnik

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Vernon looked at the menu. He saw

Breakfast Special

$2.95

in a box in the lower left-hand corner. That included orange juice, eggs, grits, coffee and a pastry. But he was in the mood for a proper chowdown. A matronly waitress came over and said, “What’ll it be, sweetie?” Vernon said, “I’ll have the pancakes, then the eggs and sausages. Fried eggs. What kind of pie you got?” The waitress said, “Apple, cherry, blueberry, pecan, lemon meringue.” Vernon said, “Yeah, give me blueberry – no, no, make that lemon meringue.” The waitress poured his coffee and brought him the pancakes with a small pitcher of maple syrup and a few pats of butter in a dish.

Continue reading “In the Diner by Fred Skolnik” →