The Election Horror winning entry
| November 04, 2008 |
ELECTION HORROR #2: Shaded Streams Run ClearestOur second place story. |
| November 02, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: A Splash of ColorA month after returning with DNA samples, Anna sat across from me, prepping burnt umber for her family’s portrait. With mortar and pestle, she mashed kidney organelles cultured from her brother. The smell, earthy and pungent, mingled with the fragrance she wore. SHORT FICTION: The New BreedMy breasts continued to throb as I took the subway home. I had finally admitted to Dr. Fremont that I had minor pain, and he told me that the pain was a side effect of the treatment. He said it should fade as my body became more adapted to “servicing the aliens,” his words. But it still put me in a crappy mood. SHORT FICTION: Take Your Daughters to WorkSadie smoothes down her long brown hair, then fastens a choker around her neck. She stares at herself in the mirror. Today her father is taking her to work, and she must be perfect. There will be other girls there, other daughters brought to work by their fathers. But her father runs the company, and so she sets the example. All who look on her must see perfection–otherwise, her father will be shamed. SHORT FICTION: Behold: Skowt!My eyes are dinosaur eggs. My tongue cracks like lightning. I been there, done that, drunk it, fucked it, lived it. I am the hole in the roof where the brains leak in. I eat jerks like you for breakfast. Behold: me! Behold: Skowt! PERMUTED PRESS PRESENTS: The Moribund RoomScrabbling for answers, he examined the thing on top of him; tracing flaps of skin, the tip of a bone, and a crinkly thatch of hair before getting to the crux of the matter. When his fingers met up with fingers that did not belong to him, he knew he was in the Moribund Room and he knew who’d put him there. BEAUTY & DYNAMITE: I Bet You Think This Essay’s About YouA great artist is an artist who has their own distinct voice. Their “certain something” stands out from the crowd. Certain aficionados can glance at a painting and tell a Renoir from a Picasso or a Van Gogh; they can listen to a stanza and tell Handel from Mozart or Chopin. One of my recent essays was referred to as self-indulgent crap. I could not have been more flattered. Hallelujah, I thought, I’ve finally arrived. INTERVIEW: M.M. BucknerAn interview with Philip K. Dick award-winning author M.M. Buckner. INTERVIEW: Louise BohmerAn interview with Canadian first-time novelist and small press star Louise Bohmer. Annual Apex Post-Halloween RaffleAre you ready for Halloween to be over? We aren’t! In fact, we’ve decided to hand out a whole host of treats, with only a little trick involved. That’s right! It’s time for Apex’s Annual Post-Halloween Raffle! CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE: MarginaliaMarginalia is really something of a complex subject. Technically, the term is used by collectors to define such items that are peripheral to a collection – small, obscure, related publications of uncertain value. ATOMIC RUBBLE: Jeers of a ClownSince I started publishing fiction, my brand of humor as been repeatedly called ‘dark’ or ‘black’, which recently led to pondering the source. Does a dark sense of humor come from the viewpoint of an author, or does the world regularly present us with these scenarios that only a certain personality type recognizes as humorous? Is it the same thing? And where do we draw the line between dark humor and a simple lack of taste? |
| October 02, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: BlakenjelBlakenjel bilong mi is black like unlit coal. His open wings are like smokers’ lungs. His skin is taut and fine like expensive vellum that was blackened in flames. There are many blakenjels, but only one bilong mi. I follow him in the darkness. SHORT FICTION: Hunting Aliens“How do you want to do this?” Harry said. “You should load more rounds.” “I’ll take the mother and baby.” “With one bullet?” SHORT FICTION: I Know an Old LadyI know an old lady who misused a teleportation chamber to merge her genetic structure with that of a fly. Perhaps she thought the compound eyes were desirable. Her true motives can never be known, as the replacement of her mouth with a proboscis rendered her completely incapable of speech. The total extent of the damage done is indeterminable. Her demise may occur soon. PERMUTED PRESS PRESENTS: Spoiled MeatYesterday in the park, I fed the zombies, tossing bits of cadaver onto the cold cement as they fought each other like pigeons for the morsels. They’re not so different from pigeons when you think about it, driven as they are by a primal need to feed, to sustain. SHORT FICTION: Dick Does TimeDick sees Jane. It is the same Jane. Jane is not calm. Jane moves strangely. There is no smile on Jane’s face. “Jane,” says Dick. “Something is wrong,” says Jane. INTERVIEW: You Want to Take it Outside? An Interview with Lavie TidharWe had no electricity, very little shipping and, surprisingly, little food. I lost about fifteen kilos… but it was beautiful – I could watch the volcano every morning when I got up, I got to go around in boats, really get to know some of the most remote places on Earth. THE BRIT’S BITS #2: Gill Turns AnorakAnorak: n Rather ‘sad’ person such as train spotter, often seen wearing said item of clothing whilst enjoying outside hobby in unpredictable English weather. ATOMIC RUBBLE #10: Let’s All Go to the Snack BarOn a quest to show my foreign guests the beauty of the New England seashores, I drove them down the length of Cape Cod to Provincetown. But their excitement peaked before reaching what I considered the pinnacle of our destination, and they pressed their faces against the car windows, shouting, “Look! A drive-in movie theater! A drive-in movie theater!” INTERVIEW: Brandy Schwan and Lizzie BordenAs a new, untried minion of the Apex Empire, it was with great trepidation and quite a lot of fan-girl squeaking that I received my first assignment in the human realms. I was to acquire an interview with the infamous Brandy Schwan, the fiendishly brilliant poetess behind Apex’s upcoming release CATACOMBS AND PHOTOGRAPHS. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE #10: The Secret Book of ListsIt is only human nature to make lists. For collectors, lists are almost their raison-detre. Collectors love nothing more than to compile lists of the things they collect. Bibliography – which is something I’ll be talking about at more length some other time – is the ultimate act of list-making in the book collecting world. |
| September 08, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: The Limb KnitterSpring filled the lower elevations on the southern face of the Canarus Ranges, sowing the valleys and slopes behind the trenches in emerald foliage. From the gates of the mountain redoubts of Forces Velaysia, the Limb Knitter caught sight of the Brigades Invalid, on the march with their machines to stiffen the mere flesh and bone Frontists of the Brigades Defender along the Southern Front. Mixed in amid the rusty, black bipeds were the Invalid Harvesters, their bodies whitewashed to prevent friendly fire and their backs burdened with empty harvest drums. ATOMIC RUBBLE #9:The Year of FearIt all started with slugs. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE #9: Voracious Carnivores and Badabings: On Short Story MagazinesI’m still not sure who the people who subscribe to the magazines are. People with more money than me, that’s for sure. EDITORIAL DISPOSITIONS #9: You’re Boring MeThe big sale, it has been made. You drink heavily from a box of cheap wine in celebration. In the heat of the night, you strip down to your skivvies and run up and down the streets of your town exulting in writing superiority. You will soon be a published writer. COOL PERSON OF THE MONTH: Dot PorterEvery month we will feature one of our biggest fans. Think you qualify? Want to receive a free hardcover book? Then send us an email! POPPED CULTURE: Hot Topic Is SO Punk RockGoths. Got to love them. Or hate them. Whatever. |
| September 01, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: The American DeadThey are why he never sleeps in the Cementerio. That some of the dogs walk on two legs only makes them worse. ATOMIC RUBBLE #8: Probe ThisIn a world where our intellectual domination is unquestioned as a species, we don’t like the idea of someone more advanced coming down and prodding at us like a vaguely interesting crop of mushrooms. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE #8: Collectors and CollectingOne of the guys I worked with was an ex-bouncer. He was the sort of guy who bought a six-pack of beer just for the train journey home every night. He was big, and rather sweet, and one day he confided, shyly, that he collected Doctor Who. EDITORIAL DISPOSITIONS #8: Because We CareA quick rundown of useful writer-beware websites. |
| August 25, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: Scenting the DarkHe tied the sleeves around her chest and slid both hands under her. He fixed the location of the ship in his mind. All he had to do was retrace his steps. Eleven paces, then turn slightly and take nine more. He could do this. Penn pushed to his feet. Clutching Madison to his chest, he turned to his right. That was far enough. Wasn’t it? JENNIFER PELLAND: Love’em and Leave’em - Confessions of a Serial Short Story WriterI find an idea, woo it, play with it until it bores me, and then move on to the next idea that entices me with a flash of comely ankle. ATOMIC RUBBLE #7: Play TimeA treatise on the “lack” of imagination in today’s youth. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE #7: The Colour of Pratchett: First Editions, Ze Germans, Intelligent Rocks and Stretching Credibility to the LimitCollecting Pratchett! EDITORIAL DISPOSITIONS #7: Chatting with Mary Doria RussellAn interview with Dreamers of the Day author Mary Doria Russell. POPPED CULTURE: Countless Birds. One Staff.Skelator gets sneaky. |
| August 18, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: Through Thy BountyThe boy is maybe eight or nine, redheaded, skinny and bruised. His ankles are purple and rope-burned. The gash in his neck is as pale as raw bacon; they’ve drained the blood from his body. Sometimes, depending on the menu du jour, they leave the chilled blood for me in a stainless steel thermos jug beside the corpse’s head. But not today. PERMUTED PRESS PRESENTS: The FingerThrough some ironic twist of fate, the phone call from the morgue came while Jim Cooley sat watching Frankenstein on one of the cable channels. AUTHOR Q & A: Jennifer PellandOur fan-driven Q&A of Jennifer Pelland ATOMIC RUBBLE #6: FiltersSo when a friend who worked in the environmental cleanup business told me about a particularly bone chilling job, I decided to investigate and write about it. I would explore the horror of reality, confident that I could handle the transition and blend these two passions into a unique and powerful article. It was a terrible mistake. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE #6: James McClureMcClure’s Kramer & Zondi novels are wonderful. They display the ugly reality of Apartheid almost without comment. The irony is in the spaces, in the things not being said – and they can be both horrible and very, very funny. The humour is almost never absent, even when the reality is truly horrifying, and it’s what makes McClure’s novels such good reads. EDITORIAL DISPOSITIONS #6: Interview with Adrienne Jones, author of brineAn interview with brine author Adrienne Jones |
| August 11, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: The Nature of BloodHer name was Isabella. ATOMIC RUBBLE #5: ButterscotchIn the past year I’ve read three women’s fiction novels about a gal who returns home for a family emergency only to discover the real problem is her own sheltered life, until a mysterious stranger awakens her spirit, and her vagina. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE #5: Strange Books I Have Loved and (Not Quite) KnownBooks made of asbestos, money, and floppy disks. EDITORIAL DISPOSITIONS #5: What’s the Game Plan?A treatise on this website’s goals and dreams. |
| August 04, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: Just an Old ManJust another face in the crowd. Just an old man on a bench. SHORT FICTION: House Cleaning“Filthy!” she hissed in disgust. INTERVIEW: Wrath James White & Maurice BroaddusAn interview with the authors of Orgy of Souls ATOMIC RUBBLE - Wooing the AlienGeek love. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE: #4 - The Horror of Horror: On Zombies, Ghosts, Deranged Killers and MushroomsWhen will Horror come back? Why did it go away? Is there a Horror renaissance? What is Horror? Do you care about Horror as much as I do? No you don’t. Yes I do. No you don’t. Yeah? Yeah! You wanna take it outside? Let’s go! EDITORIAL DISPOSITIONS: Writing Equals Spouse Hate?Lovers beware! POPPED CULTURE: Vendetta!Justin lives in Lexington, KY with his lovely wife and their two canine kids. Visit www.popstewcomics.com or justin3000.blogspot.com to get all the skinny on Justin, who is actually, not skinny at all. JODI LEE: Green With EnvyShe promised us green hair… DEAL OF THE WEEK: Orgy of SoulsGet a discount on Orgy of Souls |
| July 28, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: In the SeamsI’m going to tell the whole story because I know that when they find what’s left of me, or what isn’t, they’re going to ask questions, and I don’t want them…you, whoever you are, to think this was a murder. This was a feeding. You’d better just put down the cause of death as “mauled by animal.” You’ll probably have another name for it soon. ATOMIC RUBBLE: The Man in the BoxAdrienne Jones explores the dangers of sleep deprivation POPPED CULTURE: Bringing My Crap BackCobra Commander! EDITORIAL DISPOSITIONS: 5 Creepy Music VideosGood music. Scary times. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE: #3 - Hollywood Mutilations and the Forty-Five Degree AngleIt might be worth terming this The Hollywood Butcher School of Book Handling, and it has some illustrious graduates, premier amongst them, Angelina Jolie, who does a good job of murdering hapless books in Tomb Raider, another case of someone-who-should-really-know-better. Never mind. Let Hollywood murder its set props. Just leave the real books alone. |
| July 21, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: Summon, Bind, BanishSee, people, here’s the thing about Crowley. He was racist and sexist and sure hated the Jews. Real controversial stuff, sure, but you know what, he was actually in the dead center of polite opinion when it came to the Negroes and the swarthies and money-grubbing kikes and all those other lovely stereotypes. BEAUTY & DYNAMITE: Almost BackWe’re delighted to bring you the latest of Alethea’s popular quarterly Apex Digest column via the magic of digital bits. INTERVIEW: F. Paul WilsonLucien Spelman interviews F. Paul Wilson ATOMIC RUBBLE: A Real BoyDespite the planet’s overpopulation and cornucopia of differing cultures and races, we’re just freaking bored with ourselves. If it were merely about creating life, we’d all have babies and be satisfied. But no, we want talking dolls, regardless of their potential to pick up a knife and skitter around in homicidal glee. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE: #2 - How Philip Pullman Paid My Way Through UniWhat I did not expect to see was the almost perfect first edition of The Subtle Knife sitting demurely on the shelf, sandwiched between Dick Francis and Jilly Cooper in an unholy manage-a-trois. THE BRIT’S BITS: A Day in the LifeAfraid of bombs? Not Gill Ainsworth. EDITORIAL DISPOSITIONS: Interview with Magda ApanowiczAn interview with Magda Apanowicz, co-star of Kyle XY, and the upcoming Battlestar Galactica prequel Caprica. POPPED CULTURE: Say You, Say MeClone you. Clone me. BUY THIS: Support the cause!Get your Unwelcome Bodies fix. |
| July 13, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: These DaysApril is pure rot. Most days I don’t drag myself out of bed, and when I do? Posters with body parts are wheat-pasted up and down our block. Radio stations are mid-theory about why women get the wild, men get the crack, and kids get the numb, when the signal just bleeds out into howls. No one works at the grocery store anymore, and you can take what you want, but all that is left is unlabeled canned goods. INTERVIEW: D.L. SnellJodi Lee interviews DL Snell, the author of Roses of Blood on Barbwired Vines. ATOMIC RUBBLE: Has Satan Gone Out of Style?Adrienne Jones explores the lack of enthusiasm for Satan in today’s horror fiction. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK JUNKIE: The Titanic OmarHave you heard the one about the priceless book that went down with the Titanic? It’s a story book collectors tell, or at least I’d like to think they do. Once there was a priceless book and it sank with the Titanic, and it is under all that water still… I suspect any serious book collector would have given up his place in the life-boats to get hold of that book. If it exists. EDITORIAL DISPOSITIONS: Meet the new ‘zine, same as the old ‘zineApex Digest Online - a primer. POPPED CULTURE: $4.00 for a gallon of gasWhat is Popped Culture? BUY THIS: Support the cause!Check out this week’s bargain! |
| June 28, 2008 |
Short Fiction: To Know How to SeeSomething was wrong with Lee’s face. A small comet passed the Ambrosia’s cockpit window, and Sean Corbett saw its streaking tail reflect off the man’s skin, shimmering across his cheek and forehead, across the bridge of his nose, as if they were the sculpted features of a wax mask instead of true flesh. |
| June 17, 2008 |
First Chapter of Orgy of SoulsRead the first chapter of Orgy of Souls. |
| May 21, 2008 |
Short Fiction: Pretty Little ThingShe was a pretty little thing, lithe, dark. She swung her hair just so, without a care in the world, not a hint of tension to betray the danger of the situation, a young girl taking the metro at night, alone. |
| April 27, 2008 |
Short Fiction: Light Like Knives Dragged Across the SkinWhen Saw slapped down his last card we knew that things were going to change. |
| April 17, 2008 | |
| March 08, 2008 |
Short Fiction: A Handful of PearlsYan closed his eyes. The air pulsed against his skin, making his head throb. Steady, he told himself. It was the heat, the tent’s closeness, the excitement of landing. That was all. Nothing to worry about. |
| February 17, 2008 |
SHORT FICTION: Captive GirlRead Jennifer’s Nebula Award-nominated short story. |
| February 01, 2008 |
Short Fiction: Twelve-AThough their bodies were naked, their minds empty, the fearful, half-mad faces that followed Marie from behind the bars were humanity’s hope. Short Fiction: Flash of Light“Daddy has a bad headache, okay? The army doctors told Mommy it’s because he’s been away from his family for so long.” He felt Michelle nod in his arms. “Mommy wants us to play ‘hide and go seek’ until he’s not mad anymore.” Interview: Jeremy ShippJeremy discusses his well-received first novel Vacation. Interview: Sara KingApex editor Jodi Lee discusses the finer points of living in the remote lands of Alaska with Ms. King. Interview: David WongAn interrogation of the author of the hilarious novel John Dies at the End. |
| January 01, 2008 |
Short Fiction: The Dead Man and the BerserkTwo men hit Bazard after 1:00 a.m. that the mood and the music don’t touch. They’re not here for either. They are stoics in a cult of hedonists, still buoys in an angry sea. Short Fiction: Post ApocalypseThe letter came on Tuesday marked “Post Apocalypse.” |
| December 17, 2007 |
SHORT FICTION: Something WetMy name’s Les Littleton, and I’m a porn star. |
| December 01, 2007 |
Short Fiction: Under the DryerI tried to warn them, but the humans wouldn’t listen and the cats just taunted me. Fiction: Not Flesh Nor Feathers - Chapter 1The Tennessee River has swollen again, and nothing stops it. |
| November 24, 2007 |
Short Fiction: Happy ThoughtsSorscha had never known her father’s true motivation behind poisoning his children. Passion for Rasputin, Napoleon and Hitler? Paranoia-driven sense of preservation or completely sadistic experiment? Whatever his reasons, her immunity to arsenic always made for an interesting topic of conversation at dinner parties. |
| November 01, 2007 |
Short Fiction: Tex’s Last RunJersey was an arrow in flight given legs. |
| October 25, 2007 |
Interview: Maurice BroaddusSo much of the “business” of writing involves things like marketing and image and it’s great when those things line up with who I already am. I don’t fear things, I use them to my advantage. I’m all about playing the hand I’m dealt. Sure, it can be a little disconcerting to have publisher rush up to meet you at a writers convention … to ask you questions about faith. So sometimes it’s a matter of being flexible about what hat I’m wearing at the time. Short Fiction: In the Shadows of MeidoHistory recorded that in the year 1703, in the town of Kodaiji, Japan, Tojiro Okami–commander of the Otoyo han guard–slaughtered the han heir, in a heinous act of treason. What do you want me to tell you about Tojiro Okami? Well, he was damn stubborn. A man destined to have many songs written about his deeds, to have pretty girls swoon at tales spun by those who claimed to have known him, not to have his name whispered by mothers to scare their children to bed. I don’t remember how I came into his acquaintance, I don’t remember a lot from those days. Many men dismissed me as a fool drunk; it helped them sleep better at night. I was many things: overindulgent eater, occasional gambler, priest, but I was not fool drunk. I was a damn fine drunk. That dry coarse itch at the back of my mind still haunts me, especially when I recall the events that led to Tojiro’s tragic downfall. |
| September 02, 2007 |
Short Fiction: Last RespectsA scream rang out from downstairs. I smiled when I heard applause, my grandchildren now being praised by their mother as the scream faded to a whimper and the giggles were replaced by slurping sounds. |
| September 01, 2007 |
Short Fiction: All the Wonder in the WorldIt began, the way these things usually do, with a rain of frogs. Short Fiction: A Darker Shade of Green“Go Green,” they said. “Save the Earth!” Now, watching the fire, I wonder, who is going to save me? |
| August 26, 2007 |
Short Fiction: AftermathA piece of the puzzle was still missing, and what plagued her mind more than anything was that she couldn’t see it. So she peered into a spider truck window and to her surprise, discovered an interior filled with a dull grey pockmarked substance. She was staring at hardened concrete, used to cripple the vehicle so it could not be used in enemy hands. Short Fiction: Cain Xp11 - The Voice of Thy Brother’s BloodAnd not just any human being, Becker reminded himself. Developed in some lab for the scientific goal of isolating, understanding and curing violent human behavior, this boy was the genetic offspring of a known killer. A name even Becker recognized, although he could never remember if it was the good-looking guy out west or the one who dressed like a clown. |
| July 24, 2007 |
Short Fiction: Darkness and the LightJonathan stared into the swirling depths of his mug and held his silence. It was the truth. He’d not seen The Loch since his boyhood days, when he’d played beside the Loch, young and carefree, never questioning why he couldn’t sit on the stones and watch the soft slap of the waves after the sun had gone down. He’d left with his mother at the age of eight and never looked back. Not during the waking hours. |
| June 24, 2007 |
Short Fiction: FoiledThe day she had asked her father what the words meant, he had slapped her. She had overheard the Aunts, she admitted. He went very still after that, and simply told her to never say them again. The words were a curse: May each day you live after this be worse than the one before. Short Fiction: Junkyard Dogs“My body is my Temple,” he whispered out loud, tasting the rightness in the bitter irony of the words – that his body was all he had, and so he was reborn: Temple. Short Fiction: Fifteen MinutesShe lay back against the fine, human leather of her pleasure throne, as he strapped her in. He clamped metallic ribbons around her wrists and ankles, and then stood back to admire his handiwork. Plump, violet lips spread in a wicked grin for him. Short Fiction: Under the Influence of Meat PuppetsIt’s interesting to look back on those difficult times, now that the fuzzy lens of hindsight obscures things: memories, feelings, and all that stuff. |
| May 02, 2007 |
Short Fiction: PotholesThe potholes they’d filled yesterday had returned, blemishing the shiny black surface of the new asphalt. Djinowski stared into the largest of them. It was a real axle-breaker, in the middle of the lane — made the road pretty much unusable. The bottom was covered by water. Short Fiction: The Garden Shed PactThe spider and I have a pact. |
| April 30, 2007 |
Short Fiction: Blue LightsGunter cried at the wondrous sight. In the blue moonlight, he could see the rush of the water and the clouds of mist. Across the river on the other bank, he saw a young boy, full of hopes and dreams, jumping up and down pointing at the Falls. A woman, the boy’s mother, smiled and hugged her son. Gunter did not try to hide. He knew them and they knew him. |
| April 14, 2007 |
Short Fiction: Horizontal RainMaxwell Sanders pressed the phone closer to his ear as if that would somehow bring comprehension. “Did you say trolls?” |
| March 30, 2007 |
Short Fiction: The TowCarlton quickly tipped it into the funnel, and Lex watched in horror as the brown liquid descended down the hose toward his mouth. Only now he could see that it wasn’t liquid at all, but a mass of small, gelatinous worms that coiled around each other and slithered down the hose as one. He could feel the hose vibrating in his throat as they passed down into his esophagus. His stomach fought back with painful spasms, but it couldn’t hold the creatures back as they squirmed into his belly. |
| February 28, 2007 |
Short Fiction: Chocolate Ex-Lax Cake and the Sucker ManBy the time dinner rolled around Daddy was good and hungry, and nothing but a meteor crashing into our house and roasting us alive would have kept him from eating a huge slab of that tainted cake. Short Fiction: Spin Cycle“Gram, what are you doing?” There was blood on the floor, blood edging the circular opening of the front-loading washer. Denny snatched the bag from her frail hand and she gave out a little cry. He glanced at her, then reached into the bag, his fingers connecting with something warm and wet. He pulled out a squirrel carcass. Its body was split up the center from pelvis to neck. |
| January 23, 2007 |
Short Fiction: Red BarchettaThe salty air felt cooler than usual and Gypsy was acting wilder than he’d ever seen her. She kicked off her high-heeled sandals and stood up in the seat as the Barchetta zoomed down the first straightaway. The savage wind tore at her thin, tie-dyed t-shirt, outlining her small, perky breasts. |
| January 22, 2007 |
Short Fiction: Suffer“Messy. The messier the better. I want her to suffer, and suffer for a long time.” |
| December 21, 2006 |
Short Fiction: The Day Lufberry Won It AllThe rest of the men exchanged smirks, interpreting his behavior as hesitation to take on the kid. Money appeared and changed hands. Lufberry surveyed the scene. He’d hustled some of these men in the past. No doubt they were eager to see him get his ass handed to him. |
| November 20, 2006 |
Short Fiction: Curling Tendrils of LoveIn Simon Hatworth’s basement, the vines grew strong. They stretched off his work counter, pressing themselves outward, sneaking down table legs and off into damp crevices at a crawl’s pace. Most of the time he’d carry on with his work ignoring their movements, but every now and then he’d stand back and marvel at their liveliness, their will to travel, their reason for being. |
| October 19, 2006 |
Short Fiction: Wild ThingsThe Wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye… |
| September 16, 2006 |
Short Fiction: CrossesBut then there’s that one question in the middle of the form: Life Status: Non-dead / Dead(one time) / Dead(more than one time) [please specify number of times dead]. I hate that question. I hate having to check the Dead(more than one time) box. |
| August 15, 2006 |
Wings to the Kingdom - Chapter 1The first time it happened—the first time anyone admits to it, anyway—was at a Decoration Day picnic being held at the battlefield at Chickamauga, Georgia. Several dozen doddering representatives of the Sons of Confederate Veterans had come together on a fine June afternoon for chicken-salad sandwiches and punch. Some sat in metal folding chairs, with their wives at their elbows, while others shuffled around the buffet table in search of the correct sliced cheese or condiment. |
| July 14, 2006 |
Short Fiction: Seven WivesI was traveling to St Ives, met a man with seven wives. |
| June 13, 2006 |
Short Fiction: SkinPain. A sheet of razors and barbed wire across his chest, an iron maiden mask closed on his face, sixty volts of electricity running through the fluids in his veins. Ground glass in his trachea when he tried to breath. Behind his eyelids, jagged lime and lemon shapes slicing at the jelly of his eyeballs. |
| May 13, 2006 |
Short Fiction: Only Springtime When She’s GonePortia had changed out of her Spartan business ensemble and donned a soft green evening gown that frothed chiffon at her wrists and décolleté. It brought out the color of her eyes. Poised against the backdrop of his marble and gold dining room, she was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. |
| April 09, 2006 |
Short Fiction: The Heavens FallJohnny knew him. Mosh Frazier. Mosh of the wild hair. Mosh of the tattoos, skulls and fire. Mosh of the wide leather belt and the evil temper. Mosh was Johnny’s friend. At least that’s what Johnny thought. Johnny had always been a little slow about people. Short Fiction: Clone Barbecue‘You are cordially invited to eat me.’ Well, this is certainly an evocative invitation, Carl.” Charlene tipped her glittering invite into the crystal bowl just inside the door, and it vanished in a puff of smoke. Short Fiction: Next Stop, BabylonShe watched as the bus crested the hill and cut a silver blur across the burnt landscape. Her name was Tamara, and she had survived when the rest of her family had passed into eternity or oblivion, whichever came after death. Her husband, Terrance, had died in the fields, toiling to bring forth fuel from the red earth. Her mother and father had died in one of the subway attacks—a bomb or a terrorist or a derailing—she could no longer remember which. Her brother disappeared with the wind, and her sister died last winter, giving birth. |