Short Story
The Duel Arranger. Content Warning.
Jeremy Banjo and his brother Emeril standing back to back, in a field, wind softly blowing. Each armed with a Sig Sauer P210 loaded with only one bullet, hardened brass and steel core, one of those so-called "cop killers." They start to take their paces. Jeremy doesn't know it, but Emeril's been practicing. His goal is to fire at exactly the same time as Jeremy, and hit Jeremy's bullet with his own. He doesn't want to kill his brother, but he certainly doesn't want to be killed either. No, not at all. He's in his late forties, he's shorter than his brother, he's certainly heavier, but he has that wonderful bushy mustache, and he's well respected down at the firm, he still had his half of the trust in his nest egg, why would he want to die? Just because he's been cuckolded? No, which is to say yes, there was shame in being cuckolded, surely, but not so much that a man needs to die. Not even his brother, the cuckolder, or whatever you call them.
By Jason Edwards2 years ago in Fiction
My Illegal Aliens. Content Warning.
My Illegal Aliens Here I am in my hallway, pretty much the only hallway we have in the house, sitting on the floor and writing in my journal. Why? Aliens. Illegal aliens. The reason I'm sitting on the floor is because there are illegal aliens in my bedroom, in my office, in my guest room and the kitchen and the dining room and the den and the media room. My house is packed to the rafters with illegal aliens, everywhere except the hallway. This hallway. They're in all three bathrooms and the garage and oh, you know it, totally in the back yard, in tents. I think the ones in the tents have it the best. Those are three-man tents, and there are only three illegal aliens in each tent, so it's appropriate. The bedrooms have more than a bedroom should hold and too for the bathrooms, it goes without saying.
By Jason Edwards2 years ago in Fiction
The Cup Stirs Itself
It was the year 1900. The storyteller, (ahem)...I mean, the Fortune Teller stared into the teacup with great concern. She swirled it this way, then that, tipped it a bit first to the right, then to the left, and lifted her head to stare at her client with a raised eyebrow at Miss Butter Tart in front of her. The young woman was all of 22 years old. Bright red curls piled on her head with a hairpiece, long skirt, gloves and fashionable bag. Her chaperone waited outside. Spoiled, indifferent, but not carefree - the word was not invented yet in the context of womanhood.
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelle2 years ago in Fiction
“The Empty Cradle”
Amina sat by the kitchen window, gazing at the support within the corner of the room. The little, unpredictably carved wooden support had been a wedding blessing from her mother-in-law, Saira. It had been five a long time, and the support remained purged, a consistent reminder of her disappointment within the eyes of her family. The weight weighed on her like an overwhelming stone, crushing her soul day by day.
By Abdul Qayyum2 years ago in Fiction
The Light Not Forgotten
My evening walk is later than usual today. I like to watch the bats swooping down after their meals, which reminds me that I haven’t had anything today. Nobody is out tonight, and the autumn air is redolent of vanilla and decay. As I walk along the sidewalk, the blades of dying grass are humming and whispering. This reassures me all is well these many years. I have never missed a day.
By Barb Dukeman2 years ago in Fiction
The Blacksmiths Call
I was late for my train. Midnight had fallen, I was rushing to the station. My bags weighed on my back. My destination was the northern part of our country—a place I had always dreamed of visiting, where snow-covered mountains towered over deep valleys and ancient, towering trees. The invitation was unexpected and shredded in mystery, a strange letter with all expenses paid. Yet, the thrill of the journey was shadowed by unease. Who was this mysterious person urging me to abandon my mundane life and join him in this remote, enchanted land?. He wrote in the letter, "Mr. Keats, We are anxious for your arrival. We are in dire need of your grand knowledge of blacksmithing. Come and you will be handsomely rewarded". I was shocked to read the letter because not any of my acquaintances knew of this hobby of mine.
By Abdul Ahad2 years ago in Fiction
Three Ex-Yard Gnomes and a Homemade Pizza
Three yard gnomes named Jolly, Squally, and Polycarp lived on a shady front lawn. The lawn belonged to an old raisin-of-a-woman named Sadie O'Grady. Her name doesn't really matter though because this story is about the three yard gnomes. One day Squally squealed by exclaiming, "I'm terribly tired of this job, standing still as a statue all day on this boring, old, shady lawn! There is a whole wide world out there that we've just got to explore!”
By Rowan Finley 2 years ago in Fiction
Big Game Tonight. Top Story - September 2024.
I couldn’t sleep last night. Haven’t slept well in a minute, to be honest. At three in the morning, I opted to give up staring at the cracks in the ceiling to instead stare at my laptop screen and the mounds of opened and unopened white envelopes spread like dying angels’ wings across my kitchen table. I can hear my husband sleeping like a fat baby in the other room, the sounds of his snoring reverberating through the thin apartment walls. I imagine little waves in my black coffee rippling through every guttural breath that comes out of him, and I form the outline of what should have been a smirk on the corner of my lips.
By Bryan Buffkin2 years ago in Fiction
The Ride Home
Balamurugan had been driving his auto for over twenty years, through crowded streets and quiet lanes, in the sweltering heat and the calming monsoon rains. Today was no different, but there was something about the way the evening light hit the city that made him smile. It wasn’t a big reason — no grand event had occurred. Just the familiar rhythm of life, the occasional laughter of children playing cricket on the side streets, and the soft murmur of people going about their day.
By Subhasri Devaraj2 years ago in Fiction
