When Adam West first came up with the idea for the site and drew together our little band we thought it would be fun. All five editors are passionate about Short Fiction, the reading and writing of it. I don’t think any of us realised just how much fun it would be – and how much work. We have spent many, many hours putting together a site that we are now very proud of.
Continue reading “Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year”
It’s bedtime now. Santa will only come after you have gone to sleep.
‘Oh Grandpa, tell us a story.’
Only if you both stay still, no jumping around. Come on now, settle under the blankets and listen. Let me tell you about Grandma’s Christmas bauble.
It was a dark wintry night and we were huddled together reaching towards the small fire, stretching our hands into the warmth. No one spoke because they were afraid, so afraid that if they slept they might not wake in the morning.
‘We’ll wake, won’t we Grandpa?’
Shussh, let me tell the story.
“Hi, Jo-Jos…er… sorry, Cas. Where are ye gaun?”
Cas glared at his cousin Mel and held back a snarl. Oh, how he hated his name Joe, Joe- fucking- King what a load of shite. His mum and dad must be a right pair of cretins to land him with that.
“I’m gaun tae visit oor Auntie Mary,” he finally replied, “gie her and Uncle Josie a wee Christmas prezzie for the new wean. Y’comin?”
Continue reading “Christmas Daze by Alexander Wardrope – Adult Content”
“Me toes are freezing.”
“Come ‘ere, give ‘em ‘ere an’ I’ll put ‘em under me coat.”
“Oh nice, that’s nice. Are you cold Joe?”
“Mmm a bit, just a bit, snuggle up and we’ll warm each other won’t we.”
“Lovely. This place in’t bad is it. I know it’s a bit wet in the kitchen and it dun’t have electric like the last squat but it’s not bad ‘ere.”
“No, an’ it feels safer I fink.”
“Yeah. Eh, what’s that noise?”
“Dunno, I’ll go look you stay ‘ere, stop under the blanket and keep warm.”…
Continue reading “Mary, Joseph and the Baby by Diane Dickson”
I thought I’d take an umbrella. I peered out of the window and drew back the curtain. It was dark and cloudy. I didn’t think – snow – but perhaps rain, sleet, maybe. So, yes I decided, an umbrella. That was back then, when I was brave, when I thought I could do it today. That was when I operated on a “normal” level, sane.
Chapter 1
The more cynical residents of Pynchon, PA claimed jam would go out of fashion before the town boasted an inhabitant of note, but the place was very much like thousands of small towns across America. It was a fair to middling blot on the landscape with thirty thousand residents, drive-thru burger joints, and an underachieving baseball team; and its attractions included a permanent fairground of rusting carousels, a correctional facility for troublesome women, and a jam factory.
Continue reading “Pynchon McCool: an introduction in twelve chapters by Michael Dhillon”
Ray had been listening in for some time now. It was fair to say that not much happened. He was paid regularly and managed to make ends meet, sure. Most of the time, that was all he cared about. The days were hardly springing by like joyous animals, but neither were they crawling in the vein of pained snails. Rent got paid, the cupboards got refilled and occasionally he treated himself to a trip to the local cinema. Work was work though, and he turned up daily at nine in his suit and tie, draping his jacket on the hook behind the door, sitting at his computer, and donning his pair of headphones. Continue reading “Listening In by Jon Green”
You emerge from the wet room, naked. Walk down a long corridor and into your bedroom where you dress in a lacy white thong, a lightweight short-sleeve translucent blouse in lime green and coral pink.
No bra. No footwear.
Outside the mercury hits twenty-seven degrees Celsius. Inside you have the air-con set at nineteen. Yet despite all your efforts to stay cool, heat rises to your skin, chasing away goose-bumps.
Continue reading “The Elite Agency by Xavier P. Xavier – Adult Content”
The clamour of the hand bell echoed through corridors and hallways, it was followed in an instant by the scrape and thud of thirty pairs of assorted boots and shoes on the bare floorboards of the classroom.
Miss Robinson stood and removed her specs. They fell to the end of their chain and swung gently over her ample bust. “Thank you Class Four collect your things. For homework today I want you to write an essay.” None of the children actually groaned but Jed noticed one or two pairs of eyes rolling heavenwards. For him though there was a flutter of excitement deep in his stomach, he loved essays.
“Your work is to be entitled “The River” and is to be at least five hundred words. Hand it in tomorrow. Now bow your heads for the prayer.” Thirty heads bowed in unison and the mutter of childish voices strove to find a way to whatever God looked down on this benighted part of Yorkshire. Continue reading “The River by Diane M Dickson”
The two hundred and fifty kilometres per hour station-to-station no-turbulence pipe came to a stop. End of the line. Everyone off.
I stepped out the pipe onto a narrow walkway amongst a shoulder-to-shoulder throng six wide whose momentum funnelled me toward a down-ramp and into a square, where a girl with dreadlocks leaning against a 3-D sandwich-board bit through a foil wrapped protein bar – without first removing the foil.
Continue reading “Do Eros Sevens Dream Of Jupiter And Mars? by Adam West”
literally stories 