In an unfathomable moment of murderous unreality, I shoot the Master. He laughs uproariously. I shoot him again and again and after an interminable fusillade, he falls to the ground. But when I gaze at his crimson body, he disappears. Continue reading THE FINAL COUNTDOWN… 5… The Master by Dr. Mel Waldman
Ladies & Germs,
PMM will be on an extended hiatus until… who knows when, who knows where, but I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.
I shall be putting some select pieces up over the next few weeks.
That is all…
Some say a gentleman’s crimes, no matter how well-intended, are permanent. That they affix themselves to his brow, or shine from the skin of his neglected soup, or find some other way to creep about his person and stamp themselves into the mold of his legacy. Continue reading Necro-Dandies By Alex S. Johnson
“Pass us the rake Brian, would ya?”
“Two seconds mate… there you go.” Continue reading Blood and Botany by Simon Maltman
Lorraine was a game that Nathan played with great relish. Not a childish game, but a sport called life.
First, there were odds. Odds that her husband, Dexter, wouldn’t discover their affair. The husband was a tedious vice president at some import company, but he had been a Marine. Nathan had visions of Dexter walking in at the height of their ecstasy and maiming him in some strange military way. Continue reading Games the Wealthy Play By Walt Giersbach
I opened the door into my small and let’s say minimal office at just after half nine that morning. As usual, I had made the short journey on the metro from Chodov to Pancrák, grabbing a take out coffee and the morning papers on the way.
I opened the blinds and sat down at my desk. I leaned back and felt fresh and ready for the day. At that time, we had lived in Prague for about three years and it still felt new and exciting. Continue reading The Bridge by Simon Maltman
Martin Skyrelli draped a red cloth over the standing mirror in his house because he could not stand to stare at himself any longer, and he had been doing so for days. Before that, less. You’ll recognize his name. No stranger to public sin—Skyrelli was a corporate gouger who’d find small monopolies on life-saving products and charge enormous amounts to the desperate. Continue reading The Gouger by Eric Westerlind
Stan gets out, taps on the door, three distinct times. Continue reading Bingo Night, Part II by Vincent Zandri
“All I’m saying, Tony, is this. Those old people living out their days at the old folks home across the road got cash coming out the wazoo. They play bingo, they don’t play for small change. They got pots worth ten grand or more.” Continue reading Bingo Night, Part I by Vincent Zandri
“I am Ernesto Luis Cardeñia, Argentine poet, an early dreamer. I sit at the edge and describe. The planes beyond, believe me—the disjunct in time here is huge at the edge of man’s space, where the wildness has been made farm and the farm has been made city and the city is dead within. Ah, our amniotic tastes ruin it.
My blood is easy and loose. My death is easy. ‘Poet Ernesto Luis Cardeñia is charged with poetic research on the surface of Mars. He studies the dung beetle and the prisoner. His final poems are addled and incoherent as though he’d become rabid; as if something were devouring him. He wrote, autobiographically, this description of himself.’”
– Forward to Thus Follows the Course of Empire, by Ernesto Luis Cardeñia Continue reading ELC: The Universal Flood by Eric Westerlind