Short Story
A half-timbered house. Top Story - October 2026.
In the afternoon, the heat upstairs is unbearable. So you’re here, sitting on a couch downstairs. You don’t know where you got this couch from, and you don’t want to know. You appreciate it. You don’t care about the black spots, the yellow stains, or the faded color. You’re just tired of the sunlight all the way back from school. A smell of something dead hits your nose. “A rat?” You keep sniffing, but the smell fades away. Now you’re staring at this damp wooden door instead, the same door you have to push hard to close. Your father said it’s swollen because of the rain. He said a lot about wood. And bricks. And the ceiling.
By Natthakan Thongon8 days ago in Fiction
Aurelius Ascends (part 4)
The digital oscillations continued without any clear sign of letting up; instead, the sounds began resonating deeper inside the triple-hulled spacecraft like an eerie prehistoric subterranean drumbeat. The sound no longer came from the harsh coldness of space. It seemed to emanate from far below the Martian substrate itself, a signal buried so deep beneath the planet's surface that it remained safely hidden from the impenetrably wide dust storms, beneath the fractured plains, and beneath the violent meteorological chaos that had made the planet feasibly uninhabitable for centuries.
By Jonathan Townend9 days ago in Fiction
Peacock & Peach
Gerry grew up in a low rental district in southern Ontario, almost ghetto like in the 60’s, 70’s, and part 80’s. They were and still are tough neighborhoods and one had to learn how to fight, run, or hide. High on the introvert scale he didn’t associate much but he did learn how to fight in the streets. Saw the first guns come into the area in the early 80’s via Jamestown, New York when the Crips and Blood began to venture north. By the mid 80’s he finally left the old neighborhood to never return, to start his own life. He thought he left everything behind when at the age of 63 he had a confrontation in downtown Toronto and like Iron Mike, Gerry came out of retirement. He didn’t get paid 5 Mil. but came out on top of a much younger opponent. Robin Hood was his boyhood hero, and he loved to climb trees and later learned archery. Gerry is always for the underdog. His first bicycle was purple. Athletic in many sports he is about to embark in Roller Speed Skating. A runner, past triathlete, like most Canadians played hockey. Learning early in life that a silent standout in a crowd is feared. He stays in shape to protect his children shielded from the life he knows. He has a wife, six kids, one grandchild and one on the way. A mechanic, once a graphic artist and illustrator.
By Gerry Thibeault9 days ago in Fiction
Charles Bukowsky and the Myth of Hitler’s Survival.
“Swastika” is a short story, an ucrony first published in the late 1960s in an American underground magazine, whose name I haven’t managed to track down. The version I’m presenting here should date from 1971. It was folded into the collection Erections, Ejaculations, Exhibitions and General Tales of Ordinary Madness (City Lights, 1972), which the Italian edition trimmed down to the more modest Storie di ordinaria follia , without including (how odd!) this very story. Expunged, censored. I had to dig it out of a bootleg ‘Millelire’ edition, or else I’d have been stuck translating it by hand.
By Federico Berti9 days ago in Fiction
Candyman: Mirror Image
Gosh I can’t wait for class to be over. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love Urban Myth, but I didn’t get an ounce of sleep making content last night for my tik tok. “Greta?” Mr. Robinson called out to me as I was dozing off. “How can I help you Mr. Robinson?” I reply very smugly. “Well Greta dear I wanted your professional take on the legend of Daniel Robitaille?” He asks.
By Joe Patterson9 days ago in Fiction
