The only thing worse than a thug is a copycat thug.
The media learned little about the Czech who had labored alongside of me, riveting fins and hammering launch lugs. The youngest of her siblings lived too many terrible suns and cruel moons away to broadcast her death. The rest of her beloveds, likewise, seemed entirely disinterested in her: having fallen from the scaffolding surrounding a rocket’s nose, uninterred body, or subsequently doubled share in the proceeds from that space-going vessel’s future payload. Continue reading Stealing Posies by KJ Hannah Greenberg
My little sister had a music box. She kept her scraps of plastic jewelry in it, a ceramic ballerina in a tulle tutu popped every time she pulled back the lid. Then there was the noise. Scrappy, too much like metal grinding together, a classical ballad of some kind but played too fast and too shrill, a techno Beethoven. Continue reading Trill by E.M. Fitch
‘It is a truth universally acknowledged,’ said Philly Bailey, crushing his lager can, ‘That all Jane Austen needed was a bloody good shag.’
As she adjusted her white linen cap and carefully smoothed out the Continue reading Spectral Warning by Sonia Kilvington
Other people’s success always made M. drink way too much. Weaving slightly as he walked across the hard wood floor, he felt each of the three dirty martinis he’d gulped within the hour of arriving at his friend David’s book party. The restaurant was already crowded, and a few folks stood outside in the spring coolness smoking cigarettes and chatting. Years ago, the rowdy bar where he unsteadily stood was he and David’s former hangout spot the Saloon, a place where once the crew of beauty queen waitresses who worked there were required to wear roller skates. M. often journeyed to the restaurant on 64th and Broadway from his Harlem hood to meet dates for Sunday brunch. Continue reading Killer Heels by Michael A. Gonzales
They lived in the suburbs on Planet B.
In Autumn, the leaves fell.
They were protein-rich, with biosensors.
by Jason Michel
Ryan Bracha‘s writing is not for the faint hearted. I think I can say that with confidence. His stories are transgressive and smeared with a gallows humour dripping around the chops. He is the best selling author of Strangers Are Just Friends You Haven’t Killed Yet and the Dead Man Trilogy. Take a trip into the darkest corners of his mind as he talks to me about dwarves, ninjas, and his latest supernatural thriller, The Switched, his blackest work yet.
To quote : “It’s basically a look at what would happen if the most fucked up people in the country just inexplicably woke up as one another, with no grasp of the concept of consequence. It’s funny.”
What makes Ryan Bracha so bloody special that we should read your precious words? Continue reading “All Manner of Hell Breaks Loose” – Ryan Bracha Interview
I sat in the back of that bus, chained to the seat like an animal. 25 years to life. I remember the way the words fell out of his lips. He seemed so angry about it. His voice was powerful and biblical and his Continue reading Burnt Film by Justin Hawthorne
*Reader’s discretion advised! – This tale of caddish skullduggery and murder contains scenes of a particularly violent nature. A strong stomach shall be necessary. You have been warned – your beloved Editor*
I have written this journal for posterity and with the strict intention of disclosing to future historians the identity of the man who became known as Jack the Ripper. The common press, both fallible and corrupt, painted a picture that I will not let remain the final word on the identity of the killer. And while what I am writing here is both a confessional and a narrative account of sorts, it is ultimately a challenge to those who believe they can determine events whose nature lies outside their sphere of experience. Continue reading WHITE GULL by Richard Godwin