Moonlight Gets Served By Vincent Zandri


I’m sitting at my desk having a drink and cleaning my gun in the second floor office loft when I hear the footsteps running, not walking, up the wood stairs. Continue reading Moonlight Gets Served By Vincent Zandri

Fish Hook by Hector Duarte, Jr.

My school is small, so everyone knew and wouldn’t shut the fuck up for the longest weeks until I had to practically beg them to stop talking about my dead sister. You ever had to convince someone you were okay? That you weren’t going to blow your head off or mow down the entire school with an AR? That shit’s more likely to drive one to madness than the original problem. Continue reading Fish Hook by Hector Duarte, Jr.

“A seriously dark place” – PMM Interview with Ryan Bracha

imageRyan Bracha is a writer known for his transgressive and darkly humourous pieces, where people do nasty things to nasty people.

His latest work, Phoebe Jeebies And The Man Who Annoyed Everybody, is a love story/satirical tale told through the colourful prism of Bracha-Vision.

PMM got in a few words with the man.


PFatMWAE is, as its title tells us, a book filled to its evil brim with ways of poking fun at the seriousness of fellow humans and their choices to conform to the 9 to 5 life, why did you choose to focus on cultural pranksterism and its way of exposing the hypocrisy and desperation in a bid to enlighten or enrage others? Continue reading “A seriously dark place” – PMM Interview with Ryan Bracha

Yesterday’s Wine by Paul D. Brazill

Pauline Williams really hadn’t wanted to talk to her brother. Not for a while, anyway. She’d been giving him the cold shoulder recently. She’d had more than enough of Billy’s shenanigans over the years, so she started to ignore his text messages and calls. She’d even unfriended him on Facebook. But when she found out he’d been in an accident, her resolve soon wilted. Family was family, after all. Continue reading Yesterday’s Wine by Paul D. Brazill

The Abyss by Lisa Ciarfella

Father Trevor rolled the rosary beads round in his hand for the twentieth time in the last twelve minutes. He knew exactly how long it had been, since the hands on the old wooden clock hanging just overhead ticked down loud, extra noisy, reminding him. He could see that both the hands and the digits had been painted on the clock’s face years ago, bold and dark green, against a pale cream colored backdrop, making them hard to miss. Under the ancient timepiece sat the calendar with the day’s date circled in red; December 31, 1949. Continue reading The Abyss by Lisa Ciarfella