The day I bought the Arachna Cam, Fly got his job as a cop. My brother used to say we weren’t related, that I was something that had crawled out of our mother’s womb and infested the house. What kind of a fucking name is Florean? I called him Fly after the time I made him eat one. It was pregnant and he had little maggots crawling out of his mouth as I clamped my hand over his jaw. I used to kick my brother while he watched TV. Asshole. Cop. Maybe he was right.
William Major stalked the lobby like a Peter Lorre facsimile, eyes bulging exaggeratedly as he surveyed the other applicants. The nearest actor looked as if the audition had accelerated his sloppiness, while sat beside him were a row of similar looking men who filed away into identical scruffiness.
Major sighed, wondering how the hell he’d let such people overtake him in his career.
“William,” he corrected.
A young woman with braces smiled at him through clenched metallic teeth, desultory laughter exiting the function room behind her. Just a horror movie, he reminded himself.
The corpse at the bottom of the pool lies on her back, illuminated like a ceramic mermaid decorating an aquarium. Her serene face tips up, seeking the surface twelve feet above. Her pale, naked limbs look longer than they should, distorted through the water’s strange lens. Her lurid red hair gently snakes out from her head like seaweed. As the Continue reading Shake Moves On by Pamila Payne
It burned on his tongue and scraped down his throat, leaving behind a deep, smoky aftertaste. The heat exploded in his stomach, made him cough.
Chris Grogan refilled his glass and found his voice above the music in the next room. ‘That’s some serious shit.’
The snow falls soft and red in the pines, as does the knife from my hands. The moon sings above the frost and layered mist. I look at the blood on my hands still warm, now cooling, and I shiver. I feel sore, tense, as if I’d just ran for my life or fought off King Kong, but I am uninjured. The blood splattered on my WICKED WOMAN tee and the Continue reading In the Pines by Jodi MacArthur
The sentry chopper turned away as we drew nearer, leaving us with only the sound of the poisonous wind as it whistled through the open windows and the squeak of old U-joints underneath the bus. The fog was thicker here, and I tightened the straps on my gas mask, praying silently it would last long enough for me to help make the stand.
I met her on the ferry heading to Victoria Island. She was alone, standing by the railing snapping pictures of the scenery. A girl in a ruffled skirt, early twenties, dark hair spilling in exquisite curls down the back of her denim jacket, pale legs smooth as ivory in the afternoon sun. She was an obvious tourist.
Of course I approached her. Was never one to let an opportunity pass me by, especially when it fell into my lap.
“ Continue reading Buttercup by Julia Madeleine
The rosary, if counted a certain way, shows much about the hands and character of the man who counts them. The beads themselves may point the way to deeds that are unspeakable to a man of the cloth. A symbol is a matter of time locked in a moment and open to interpretation. It is a sign of what is to occur in a latitude that Continue reading Ice In The Veins by Richard Godwin