The road winds and passes through the mountains of the High Mohave Desert. I see white wooden crosses along the side, etched or painted with names of car accident fatalities. Multi-hued flower wreaths and ribbons adorn the crosses, colorful and bright, signed by loved ones and strangers alike. Hundreds of people died along this road. There are only a handful of crosses.
Category Archives: Fiction
Suture by Nigel Bird
Pony cleared the dust and looked at his reflection. It was none too pretty.
The smaller cuts might heal on their own, leaving only the biggest to deal with.
The mere idea of touching it made him feel faint. He consoled himself by reducing the number of sutures he’d insert.
A doctor, he decided, might use six to do a neat job, but even a doctor might miss a few if working alone.
Before It Dies by Benjamin Imamovic
It will stop the stretch-marks and give you a chance to bond with the little one, his wife said and passed him a bottle of coconut oil. He turned off the TV. He said, Sure, I’ll give it a go. He knelt on the floor before her. At first his wife’s stomach was half a beach-ball, then a swallowed balloon, then a watermelon, then his childhood dreams. He kept at it and said, Nice. After she gave birth, he oiled that stomach, when Continue reading Before It Dies by Benjamin Imamovic
The Wild Country by David Massengill
“A ghost, you say,” Luc said in an uninterested voice, “with a tree branch where an arm should be.” He wished the motel owner would just shut up and leave him alone with this lovely young woman. But the old man remained in the doorway of Luc’s sparsely decorated, wood-paneled room, droning on about the malicious phantom while his daughter, Penny, changed the bedding.
“Long before he haunted this patch of desert,” the motel owner said, “he was a decent young man. Name was Vince Renton. Worked as a mechanic. Then he went over to Vietnam and did some awful things to them Vietnamese civilians and lost his arm. He came back and Continue reading The Wild Country by David Massengill
Fancy Eating By Richard Godwin
Whenever I took a piss there, my habit was to stand feet shoulder width, one hand firmly on my dick, the other deep in my pocket. The place had a reputation, and there’d been some shit going down.
Old habits die hard.
Death of a Jedi by Andrew Bowen
Mr. Kepler, the CPR instructor, offered Jana a laminated card and patted her on the shoulder. “Well done. And remember, recertification is every two years.”
“Thanks,” she said and slid the card into her cargo pocket.
Her stomach fluttered as her best friend, Harrison, met her at the door. “All set?”
The class bell rang.
“Yeah.”
Harrison opened the door. “Come on. I’ve got a surprise.”
THE ARGUMENT BUNNY By Ian Ayris
Mr Archibald Lever was a modest man. Unassuming, even. He had the semi-detached house, the two point four children, the Nissan Micra. He was a thirty-year man at the bank, a job he’d had since he’d left school, and he had a dutiful wife by the name of Audrey.
He was happy. Pretty much.
But something bubbled within him, something dangerous, something ugly. A Continue reading THE ARGUMENT BUNNY By Ian Ayris
The Big Hurt by Paul D. Brazill
I usually like to consider myself a long distance drinker, perhaps more suited to a cross country run than a one hundred yard dash. But one winter evening, as the moon drowned in the chasm of the night, I broke into a bit of a sprint.
And this is what happened …
The Wicked Woman’s Booty by Jodi MacArthur
Episode 2: “G marks the Spot”
As the sun rose, chaos plumed from The Amazon. Men grunted. Frogslingers screamed. Swords clashed. Frogs croaked.
Aboard the Wicked Woman, the sounds of plunder would typically be music to Captain Viper’s ears, but he was tired and the racket was just annoying.
I Let A Man Live by Dan Tracy
Back in 1979 I lived in Bridgeport, Connecticut and worked the second shift, 3-11 in Norwalk, Connecticut. I took the train everyday to and from work. It took me approximately 20 minutes to walk from the East Norwalk station to work and 20 minutes from the Bridgeport station to home.
One night on my way home from the Bridgeport station two guys walked up to me and asked for some change. As I reached into my pocket one of the guys steps behind me, gets on all fours and Continue reading I Let A Man Live by Dan Tracy
PULP METAL MAGAZINE 