The little turd, Niles, clearly had it out for Lipschitz.
Tag: short story
Elves by Frederick K Foote (contains sexual content)
It’s 2:30 am and Charlotte and I are wide awake holding hands in our new bed in our new house. This is our third sleepless night in our new home in the West Virginia wilderness. It’s the howling, hooting, chirping, scraping, squealing night noises that keep us from sleeping. There’s a sudden scraping sound on the roof and the sounds of a cavalcade of creatures marching above our heads.
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Last Look by Tom Sheehan
Shots had been fired in Black Limb, a town in the Dakota territory, a bank teller and a bystander wounded, the thief caught in the middle of the robbery, knocked down by, of all things, a woman sheriff with a badge worn on a most prominent chest, dark and beautiful eyes seemingly full of pity and something else the unsuccessful robber managed to draw from her, him the handsome dog, handsome robber George Crown brought to his dusty knees by a woman sheriff, a knock-out sheriff.
Week 74 – Homer Or Rankin?
I’m not a hundred percent sure why I thought on my topic for this week but I wanted to have a wee look at book snobbery.
Should Ian Rankin have less status than Homer? The character of ‘Rebus’ is fascinating and he’s the star of twenty novels. (So many crackers but ‘The Falls’ was superb). And what does it say about popular culture when there are more results for Rebus than Homer in Amazon. And the icing on the comparison cake, if you type into the internet the word ‘Homer’, it is Mr Simpson who pops up before ‘The Iliad’?
Go Time by Josie Myers
Frank tried to flag down his instructor using a beauty queen wave for the fifth time that day.
“Excuse me, Sergeant Airborne.”
A glare radiated beneath the brim of the instructor’s black cap as he led the troops to the open doors of the Curtiss C-46 Commando.
Dead Man’s Last Home by Michael Glazner
6:47
Clint’s sleeping body takes a breath, stretches and rolls over. The large man wearing a white coat scribbles notes on his pad while the dim sunrise light peeks through the window. Clint’s body rolls back to its original position. The white coat checks his watch and then checks off a box on his notepad.
The Islands of Bluebell Meadow by Paul Thompson
We reach the housing estate by mid-morning.
The site office is closed for business and surrounded by construction vehicles long since abandoned. Buildings hide behind frameworks of scaffold with empty windows and hollow interiors. Here the recession has spoken with confidence. Construction work has ceased and the estate is destined to stand empty and unfinished.
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The Catch of the Day by Tom Sheehan
Three of us for dozens of years were tight as a fist. No one could break us up, and a few had tried that on a few futile occasions, even when we gentlemen were fly fishing on one or more of the local streams, dawn afloat, May alive after a harsh winter and a tough early spring. Patterns were set betwixt us, like specialties of the house or garage or personal workshop, toil and turn at obstacles and unfinished tasks were before us who by each one’s choice in life’s work had brought the gifts of ideas and applicable and talented hands to extend those gifts. For each one of us possessed odd and different talents in electrical, mechanical and brute strength applications and peculiar other interests like coin and stamp collecting, scrap book organization and minimal, but touching artwork by a loving touch, family interest passed down from a parent or an older sibling.
Guy and The Baby Doll by Edward S Barkin
He had lost all interest in the newspaper, even though it was the Sunday edition and contained fourteen sections in all. When he had bought the paper late that night, he had assumed he would read it from cover to cover; but in actuality he had read only two articles — one about how the stock market had dropped 350 points the previous day and another about how the CIA was pushing for a looser interpretation of the law which prohibited it from engaging in political assassinations. If he had been either heavily invested or a liberal, one of these articles might have stimulated productive thought in his mind. As it was, however, the only thoughts which he entertained were homicidal or otherwise insane. Continue reading “Guy and The Baby Doll by Edward S Barkin”
Daniel’s Day by Anthony Wobbe
Daniel was covered in tattoos and facial piercings; to me he looked clownish, like a painted up fishing lure. He sat in my office, fidgety and nervous, waiting for the lunch meeting to be over; someone told him I was the person with the authority to approve his lease. When I got there the receptionist whispered that he’d waited the entire two hours.
literally stories 