We walked out of the neon glare of the hospital’s front door and sank into the gloom of the hot still night like unwanted nightmares. Neither of us felt like talking. Behind us, in Intensive Care Unit, was a friend of ours struggling to find the strength for his next breath. A Continue reading Just A Matter of Time by B. R. Stateham
Category Archives: Fiction
THE G.I. CHARITY REPRESENTATIVE VISITS THE MAMMOTH MAN AND HIS BELOVED SCORPIONS By Dr. Mel Waldman
Sprawled out on my super-king-size bed like a fat chicken waiting to be severed and split apart – its legs broken with the swift twist of a Continue reading THE G.I. CHARITY REPRESENTATIVE VISITS THE MAMMOTH MAN AND HIS BELOVED SCORPIONS By Dr. Mel Waldman
Paradise Burns: An Interview with Marc E Fitch
Marc E Fitch writes dark, pulpy fiction, tackling subjects of mythology and morality. His writing clearly shows his intelligence, humor and a unique perspective on human nature. He joins me today to talk about his latest book Paradise Burns recently released by Damnation Books.
By Mav Skye.
Continue reading Paradise Burns: An Interview with Marc E Fitch
Seven Minutes To Midnight By Paul D. Brazill
Hinkson’s tired, dog tired, but he can’t fall asleep. Can’t let himself drift off into the warm, comforting womb of his unconscious. It’s seven minutes to midnight and the brothers will be here at the witching hour, for sure. Same as last night and the previous night.
Continue reading Seven Minutes To Midnight By Paul D. Brazill
There Was No One There By Marc E. Fitch
Billy came back this morning. Came in through the back door and put a fillet knife between Bobby’s ribs and right through his lung like you kill a pig. He was washing dishes at the sink after breakfast. I found him on the floor. Lorell was sitting at the table the whole time. Her belly was fat cause she thought she was pregnant – nine months along, she said. Wasn’t nothing in there but crazy. She’d more likely Continue reading There Was No One There By Marc E. Fitch
Ham On Heels by Graham Wynd
Tyler Fitzgerald threw himself down at the bar, sweating profusely. “Gimme a whisky.” Seeing the bartender’s scowl he added, “please.”
Iris by Mav Skye
Leaves crunch under your boots. The air you breathe is harsh and crisp, it stings like a knife in your chest. You cough into your glove. Pull your jacket closer. Birdcalls and squirrel chatter tell you it’s morning. Not that it matters. You’ve been in the dark for years now.
Self Inflicted Wounds by J. David Jaggers
I check my watch, 2:45 pm. I pop two more capsules of Adderall, and a half dropper of liquid psilocybin. It’s an old Special Forces trick I use for long term focus. The kind of focus needed to sit thirty-six hours staring through a scope. The kind of focus needed to kill a man.
Brawny Diva Goes For A Latte by Ryan Sayles
I check my lip-gloss in the bathroom mirror; gently run the tip of my tongue along it like I’m a bomb squad guy handling a hair-trigger explosive.
Continue reading Brawny Diva Goes For A Latte by Ryan Sayles
Feeding Old Doug By Craig Furchtenicht
“Don’t forget to feed Doug before you go running off, mister,” my Pops called after me.
PULP METAL MAGAZINE 