Jonathan 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.
Tag Archives: Fiction
Short Fiction: Foiled
June 24, 2007 – 12:53 pm
The 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: Fifteen Minutes
June 24, 2007 – 12:34 pm
She 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 Puppets
June 24, 2007 – 12:28 pm
It’s interesting to look back on those difficult times, now that the fuzzy lens of hindsight obscures things: memories, feelings, and all that stuff.
Short Fiction: Potholes
May 2, 2007 – 1:50 pm
The 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: Blue Lights
April 30, 2007 – 1:49 pm
Gunter 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.
Short Fiction: Horizontal Rain
April 14, 2007 – 3:02 pm
Maxwell Sanders pressed the phone closer to his ear as if that would somehow bring comprehension. “Did you say trolls?”
Short Fiction: The Tow
March 30, 2007 – 12:33 pm
Carlton 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.
Short Fiction: Chocolate Ex-Lax Cake and the Sucker Man
February 28, 2007 – 12:35 pm
By 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
February 28, 2007 – 12:00 am
“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.
Short Fiction: Red Barchetta
January 23, 2007 – 2:07 pm
The 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.
Short Fiction: Suffer
January 22, 2007 – 11:09 am
“Messy. The messier the better. I want her to suffer, and suffer for a long time.”
Short Fiction: The Day Lufberry Won It All
December 21, 2006 – 12:15 pm
The 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.
Short Fiction: Curling Tendrils of Love
November 20, 2006 – 12:49 pm
In 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.
Short Fiction: Wild Things
October 19, 2006 – 1:32 pm
The 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…
Short Fiction: Crosses
September 16, 2006 – 1:29 pm
But 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.
Wings to the Kingdom - Chapter 1
August 15, 2006 – 3:09 pm
The 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.
Short Fiction: Seven Wives
July 14, 2006 – 12:37 pm
I was traveling to St Ives, met a man with seven wives.
Each wife had seven sacks, each sack held seven rats, each rat had seven pups.
Pups, rats, sacks, and wives; how many were traveling to St Ives?
Short Fiction: Skin
June 13, 2006 – 2:13 pm
Pain. 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.