All Stories, Fantasy

Fang-Liu House by S.Y. Chen

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Fang-Liu House is an old hotel near the entertainment district. Sitting in the middle of the row, its dilapidated plaster crumbling out of hairline cracks caused by creeping vines.

On the front of the house hangs a plastic banner, secured to the balcony, the red faded to salmon, and the yellow lettering almost white, “CRIMINAL CUSTOMERS NOT WELCOME. SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY WILL BE REPORTED TO THE AUTHORITIES.”

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction, Writing

Four Bars by Hugh Cron – Adult Content

There was always a queue to get in, too many drinks in an easy pub before hand and you were in trouble. You had twenty stairs to practise your date of birth. Even at the bottom of them you could hear ‘You Spin Me Right Round.’

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All Stories, General Fiction

Get Away by GJ Hart

In the kitchen of a cottage nestled among oak trees they waited – for neighbour, for colleague; for broken doors and strangers with zip-lock bags. Jay was long gone, whipping across fields, toward the blockhouse he’d carved with nails and fire. He crawled into peace and wished he could stay, wished he could curl up on the soft, wet earth and sleep. But if he did they would find him, find him without looking and he wasn’t ready for that medicine, for any medicine – just now his liberty was a sickness he refused to cure. He dug up his plane ticket, kicked things quiet and headed toward the airport.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction, Humour

To Kill John Morgan by Hugh Cron – Adult Content


“Hello cat! Balancing your arse on the window sill again. You need to lose weight…Pot and kettle…I know!!”

What are you chirping at? Ah, I see, the birds, how ironic!” Someone should have heard that, it was mildly amusing.

“You don’t need to puff up you idiot, I see him. What do you think? Breakdown or directions?”

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All Stories, Fantasy, Horror

Body Art by Daniel LaPonsie


The human body is undoubtedly the greatest work of art in the entire universe. This is my sincere conviction as I silently spring, hop and even moonwalk. Swirling with grace through the city street, I place the human form on nude display while keeping my mind expertly focused, eyes calm and and dispassionate.

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Literally Stories – Week 55 – Allergens not in BOLD: strong language, dodgy humour.



Santa was back on form this year. He clearly read the message I left him, very carefully unlike last year when some incompetent stand-in or faux Mr. Claus totally f***** up.

Dear Santa I wrote — as you do — I would be most grateful if you could kindly arrange it that your elves assist you in the delivery of a number of…

Now conjure up a long list of ‘literary books’ by the likes of Orwell, Dostoevsky and other suitably heavyweight names including Albert Camus.

NB: To avoid severe embarrassment as once suffered by yours truly, please note that Mr. Camus was born in Algeria (then French Algeria) and his name is pronounced, not unsurprisingly for the French, Al-Bear Ca-Moo.

Not Al-But Ca-Mus.

Any road, as we say round these parts, you can imagine the puzzlement, nay sinking feeling that besieged me, when unwrapping many book-shaped packages I came across The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton and did not subsequently discover The Outsider by said Algerian.

YA fiction is not, as you would no doubt hazard a guess, top of my must-read genre list, but to be fair to S.E.Hinton I read The Outsiders (published 1967), which was written by her when she was still in junior high school, and it is indeed a fine book of its type.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Mr. Pascal’s Funeral Parlor by Nikki Macahon


Mrs. Pascal’s first rule, no sweets in the parlor.

My fingers dig into the folds of my gloomy clothes, clawing at the satin that piles under my fingertips. It does not do to indulge yourself in front of the grieving, Genevieve. Her voice scratches against the walls of my head. Not when there is work to be done.

Perhaps not, Mrs. Pascal, but to deny one their sweets in time of such pain does not do as well.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Peppermint Fresh by Chris Milam


Living in a mouth is precisely what you’d think living in a mouth would be: wet, aromatic, and exhilarating. It’s cozy and rent-free in here. She’s not a big talker, so it stays as dark as Anchorage, Alaska during a typical winter. I sleep well. I bathe in her saliva. I nibble on specks of food that dangle from the roof like edible stalactites. When she’s wrecked and raging on a Friday night, getting blitzed on gas station wine, blaring Linda Ronstadt, we both stumble into el diablo’s embrace. When she peeks at the mirror while applying lipstick, or washing her face, I pop out and wave hello.

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All Stories, Science Fiction

Educated Fishwives by Adam West


I decided to check again. For the last time. No point keep on hoping the consignment would make it here before the twenty-second.

It wouldn’t. No choice but to proceed before it was too late.

A hologram whirred up and out of the console in a lazy fashion, like a half-cut genie who could not care less about being emancipated.

The soon-to-be-re-incarcerated figure intoned: ‘UPDATE: Next consignment due eighteenth of –’

I jabbed a finger at an ephemeral terminal button. Cut the genie’s damn circuits.

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