Fiction
The Miracle of the Whitewash Christ by Bosley Gravel
posted July 23, 2010
Terrence worked through the night, sipping whiskey, mixing flesh colored whitewash and experimenting with dabs of the mixture on bits of old ceramic. Finally when he was satisfied, he painted over the blood, the exposed bones, the deep slash in the Christ's side. He smiled while he worked, for he had been divinely inspired.
Madame Sunday's Horn by K. R. Sands
posted July 14, 2010
Madame Sunday adjusted her cap over her forehead and her horn. She had never seen such fine stitching, such lush colors, such a spotless world. But all she said to Père Goriot was, “I think you said there are six tapestries? Does each one have a unicorn?”
Let the Dice Fall Where They May by Ryan Ende
posted July 8, 2010
I appear to be in desperate straits. My opponents have me hemmed in on three sides, leaving my only option of escape behind me and onto my battleship. My strongest offensive move would be to jump an opponents’ pair of nines with my queen and put another’s iron hat in jeopardy of being trapped by the cage. I am about to execute my move when I realize that doing so leaves my armies in Ukraine at risk from the third player’s forces on the backgammon table.
Love Music by Ann Adcock
posted June 24, 2010
Now and then, glimmers of the real Rebecca showed up. They were precious moments of clarity when I could see the familiar cock of her head and glint in her eyes. During those times, she could remember me and everything seemed okay. But these good spells were happening less and less.
Lanora by Matthew Lett
posted June 6, 2010
Graciously, my hood is removed. I examine the crowd, mostly peasants and beggars. They stare at me in an odd sort of wonder, awe, but it is a lie. I know it. They are here by choice, and choice alone, having attended this event—my death—of their own freewill to witness nothing more than the horrific spectacle known as the guillotine.
Phone Call by Anthony R Pezzula
posted April 22, 2010
I know, I know, but it’s not easy to move on. Easier said than done. I try. I try to get out among people, but sometimes that makes it worse. Seeing people enjoying each other’s company makes me think of the good times we had together and how much I miss that.
Happy Meals and Kisses from the Earth by John Rachel
posted April 7, 2010
It was just before midnight when they pulled up to a large, windowless cinderblock building. They were immediately taken inside to a barracks dorm, nothing more than eighty or more grimy mats on the cement floor of a warehouse in a manufacturing zone on the outskirts of the city. They randomly scattered and collapsed on the provided mats, some already occupied by children their own age, who appeared to have been staying there for some time. Within twenty minutes, Dawa and the other new arrivals were sound asleep.
At the Wedding of Prince Romany IV by Timothy Mudie
posted April 2, 2010
“Georg?” Romany said, looking at the man, who had been silent the whole time. “Would you set my clothes on the dressing screen? And Mr. Briggs, perhaps you could interview some of the guests, to help set the scene.” With that, he vanished behind the screen, leaving Briggs and Georg to comply with the orders. The dressing screen was decorated with the family crest, an eagle clutching a rose in one talon and a shield in the other. Despite the long historical significance, none of these symbols appeared on the flag of the new Republic.
Joe Bandura's Typical Day by Jeromy Henry
posted March 16, 2010
Joe Bandura hung by one hand from the top of a cliff. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side, and blood trailed down and dripped to the canyon floor below. He thought of the three huddled heaps on the cliff above, and tried to calm his racing pulse. The last of the three goons had slashed Joe with a knife, just as Joe shoved a gun in the expensive suit's sternum, and painted the desert red.
Northward into the Night by Richard Thieme
posted March 10, 2010
Cass continued to talk about what she wanted to do next, wondering was it too late, should she look for another job? should she give this guy a chance? Elmer was his name of all things. Maybe it was made up, I suggested. Maybe you have no idea who he really is.
A Winter Colder by Daniel W. Davis
posted February 23, 2010
The old man sighed. He glanced at the glass in front of Wilcox, and without asking I went and poured him some whiskey. He took it and grabbed a stool and sat down at the table. I sat down opposite Wilcox, so that the old man was between us. I didn’t think he would do anything, at least not without fair warning, but if he went for one of us, the other had him dead to rights. Hopefully the old man was smart enough to see that.
Magnanimous Proceedings from a Deadly Sport by Stephen Muret
posted January 23, 2010
Only here, taking The Whip, might Jancie jettison a child. Always they withstood the other turns. So only here, taking The Whip, did Jancie lose the race. Everyday he led before the turn. And everyday he lost the lead at it. The other drivers did not care about the fate of their grade-schoolers. Only Jancie cared. This disadvantage was mortal for him. Everyday he lost the race because of it.
The Greatest of These by Laura Gowans
posted January 20, 2010
Another breath of wind crept in, and a strand of hair fell lightly across her eyes. She woke, blinking, languid and groggy. For a moment she braced herself to rise; then, remembering, she made a little contented noise and snuggled back into the man beside her, breathing in his scent and splaying her arm across his chest. At the motion he too stirred a little, instinctively wrapping her closer in his embrace. “Morning, love.”
Dark Shades by P.D. Stephens
posted December 8, 2009
I should have just gotten up and left right there, but like I've already stated: I needed the car. The technology made perfect sense too; if I owned a dealership and was in the position to incorporate this into my cars, then I'd probably do the same. After another minute I said, “Okay. Can you just go over the whole deal with me once more? To make sure I understand it, I mean?”
Opposable Thumb by G. O. Clark
posted November 21, 2009
So there he sat, slumped in a quandary, nervously swigging his soda, sweat beading on his forehead, blankly staring at his hand. And that’s when his frozen thumb slowly swiveled around 180 degrees, and yelled at him in a baritone voice.
Exhibit A by Alex Myers
posted September 25, 2009
Melissa was mystified both by the whales and the mention of June Cornwall – she still thought of her as Mrs. Cornwall – who had been her father’s assistant for years before he died. She tried to puzzle out what her mom might be talking about, but gave up and asked, “Which whales?”
Revolt of the Zoo Animals by Stephen Muret
posted September 4, 2009
Finally Jackal spoke again. This time his reputation did not compromise his message. This time, in fact, Jackal found the zoo animals actively seeking a new belief, any new idea that pointed them toward independence and self-sufficiency. So he spoke, and they listened.