Monthly Archives: June 2011

Fiction

Plain H2O; A Punk Stain For People With A Maid by Craig Eldon Reishus

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Everything you can’t help because it’s part of your nature is no way to go through life, but that’s the way most people feel obliged.

Cam, for instance, hated the water. »I never learned how to swim«, he explained, illustrating with the windmill sweep of his arms the manner by which he would probably drown.

»Big deal«, Jil said. Twelve years old and cloaked ambiguously in a tutu, she steered Cam back upstairs. »I’ve seen ’em Continue reading Plain H2O; A Punk Stain For People With A Maid by Craig Eldon Reishus →

Non-Fiction, Writer's Interviews

Talking Smitty! – P D Brazill talks to B R Stateham

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B.R. writes like a shadowy back alley. He nails his words to the page with a sledgehammer.
& as for Smitty, well, Smitty damn well smoulders in his stories. Dark eyes & an even darker heart. If your stairs creak at night just hope it ain’t Smitty.

P D B recently chewed the literary fat with him.

PDB: Your character Smitty has really captured people’s dark imagination. How did he come about?

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Fiction

This Makes It Even/Dues Paid by B.R. Stateham

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This Makes It Even

We were cruising on Wilmont in the ’91 Z-28 Camaro ragtop and enjoying the first truly summer day. The sun was out and hot. There was a slight breeze stirring the trees lining Wilmont and young girls were strutting their stuff in tank tops and scandalously short cut-off raggy blujeans. It felt good to be alive. Funny how one’s luck can change in the blinking of an eye.

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I Didn't say That Did I? - Paul Brazill, Non-Fiction

I Didn’t Say That, Did I? – Bite Sized Horror edited by Johnny Mains

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By Paul D Brazill.

Fancy a drink? Maybe a snifter or two of Bite Sized Horror, the lethal literary cocktail concocted by Johnny Mains, the man behind the resurrection of The Pan Book Of Horror Stories?

Take a look at these intoxicating ingredients:

Continue reading I Didn’t Say That, Did I? – Bite Sized Horror edited by Johnny Mains →

Fiction

Coming to Terms by Leslie Hopen

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Staring out the window of my father’s two-story house up in Brundle Hills , North Carolina , watching the sunlight creep across the leaves on the maple tree below.

The way the leaves grow a little closer each and every year.

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Fiction

The Disciple by Nigel Elfleda

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Two men were sitting in a small, square shaped room with large mirrors on one of the walls. Each one was facing the other over a small, metallic table. One dressed all in orange which matched his fiery red hair and pale skin, the other in grey coat and trousers and a red tie. One was completely at ease and smiling, the other tense and angry. Both were silent for some moments, then the man in the grey coat took a half empty pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, took one out and ignited it. The other man grinned.

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Fiction

The Man Who Could Care Less by John McNeeley

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Fuck those people Bucky thought to himself. It was 1995 and he hated Bill Clinton. He hated George Bush the previous president too. Bucky despised all politicians and most people in general. He loved Jazz though.

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Fiction

On Solitude by Nick Boldock

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Miriam Clendon lay down the small bunch of flowers and pulled her coat tight around her aging body. The wind was biting today, whipping into the coast and rolling up and over the cliffs that formed the border between the village and the sea, battering the dwindling clumps of farms and cottages that formed Flintsea.

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Fiction

Trophies by David James Keaton

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The cop’s decision to wear his bulletproof vest 24/7 combined with a lack of exercise during the holiday season had slowed him considerably. His dashboard camera revealed a weary, slow-moving man who’d forgotten most of his training when it came to approaching vehicles, and he was clearly unaware of what was about to happen.

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