Tag Archives: genre fiction

Fiction

The Strangers by Benjamin Imamovic

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There were two of them. She was washing the dishes when they came. She couldn’t see them. The strangers were two shadows with the sun behind their backs. One of them said, ‘Open up, ma’am. Police.’ She glanced at the clock and sighed. They were not her husband.

She left the security door locked. She said, ‘What can I do for you?’ ‘Do you mind if we come in? It’s about your husband. We need to speak to you about your husband.’ ‘It’s a scorcher out here,’ the other one said. He pushed his badge against the metal mesh of the door. With his other hand he wiped his forehead. ‘We won’t be long.’

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Fiction

Three Clowns – A Twisted Fairy Tale by Gina Marie Slade

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Once upon a time, there was a young lady named Emily. After a long day in the house, Emily decided to take her Schwinn for a spin, a long spin.

Emily lived in her house like most people live in their skin. Today, Emily’s house wouldn’t hold her for very long. Continue reading Three Clowns – A Twisted Fairy Tale by Gina Marie Slade →

Fiction

The Wild Beast by Melanie Browne

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Tracy placed two frosted Mugs of beer in the Freezer. She was expecting her boyfriend at any minute.

She glanced in the mirror and touched up her make-up.  He called at around ten o’clock to tell her he wasn’t feeling well and needed to cancel.

Tracy was tired anyway, so she chalked it up to bad timing.

She reached into the freezer to pull out the mugs but to her surprise they were no longer sitting there on top of her Lean Cuisine dinners. “That’s odd,” she said out loud. She looked in the refrigerator. They weren’t there either. Now she was starting to get really spooked. They weren’t on the counter. They weren’t even in the dishwasher.  She felt uneasy but decided to let her fears go because she was tired and had a busy day tomorrow cooking for out-of-town guests. She walked into her bedroom and unbuttoned her blouse, pulling a comfy t-shirt Continue reading The Wild Beast by Melanie Browne →

Fiction

Cold By Ian Ayris

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Jonathan Sideboard trudged up the garden path, through the snow, to the front door of his house. The funeral had gone well. Well enough, it had to be said. His late father, Ernest Sideboard, eighty-four, was six foot below ground. Six whole feet separating him from the surface of the earth. From Jonathan. And a funeral couldn’t go Continue reading Cold By Ian Ayris →

Fiction

Where Are the Assassins? by U.V.Ray

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I trace the outline of Elena’s face, running my fingertip down her delicate nose and along her slim jaw line. She is young and the texture of her skin flawless, like a pebble on the beach made smooth by the sea. She has not a single line or a scar or blemish, except for the pretty freckles speckling her cheeks. She is the colour of coffee and cream. Her sleeping head with its auburn hair cascading like a waterfall on the pillow next to me; she is truly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I like watching Elena as she sleeps. Sometimes when I can’t sleep I lie listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing; attuning my own with hers, until I begin to drift off.

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Fiction

Misunderstanding by Chris Pollard

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“You don’t want to sit here!” said the chair, brusquely, as I sat down on it.

Startled, I leapt to my feet.

“Ouch!” cried the carpet, “That bloody well hurt! I’m sick and tired of being trampled on all the frigging time.”

“You think you’ve got it bad,” called the wok from the kitchen, “You should try being me!”

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Fiction

Last Days to Nowhere by Jason Duke

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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.

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Fiction

Suture by Nigel Bird

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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.

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Fiction

Before It Dies by Benjamin Imamovic

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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 →

Fiction

The Wild Country by David Massengill

3 Comments

“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 →