Some time ago, I submitted a story to an anthology of catastrophes, “Enter the Apocalypse”, edited by Thomas Gondolfi. I’m now the proud owner of my first physical anthology.
Of course, Apocalypse is a term that can be interpreted ad infititum. For me, it was intelligent dolphins. For writer Janice Law, it was something completely different. (more…)
Far-Fetched Fables has podcasted my story “Bed of the Crimson King”, first published in Grimdark Magazine.
You can listen to it here: Far-Fetched Fables #141 – Bed of the Crimson
I broke my arms. Opening my skin with a set of industrial shears was easy, and there was hardly any leakage. Removing my torsion bars went badly though. They were a titanium beta alloy, cut with aluminium and vanadium to give them extra strength, and wouldn’t break easily. I inserted my left arm into the vice and told Neleen to start it. (more…)
Tick. A second is one sixtieth of a minute, a minute one sixtieth of an hour.
Tock. I am a good man.
Tick. The day is divided into hours because the Egyptians had a love for the number twelve.
Tock. Breathe, Justin. Calm. Good men don’t die for no reason.
Tick. A clock pendulum makes the same sound as a rifle cock. Click. (more…)
Two-mom bends down so that her eyes are level with Rao’s.
“We’re here, Rao,” she says in what Rao recognizes as her patient voice, “because she was your real-mom and we show respect.”
“What’s resect?” Rao says. He wipes his nose on the sleeve of his boring, no-glow jacket. The jacket is black, like everyone else’s, and he hates it.
“It’s when you don’t stick your tongue out,” says Nima. She’s half a head taller than Rao and knows everything in the world. She pokes Rao’s shoulder and sticks her tongue out. He answers as he always does: by flailing at her with his little fists. Nima laughs. (more…)
There is a beep.
An applied neurophysicist walks into a bar. It’s a nice bar, red leather upholstery, jukebox in the corner, bartender in a white dinner jacket. More of a lounge, really. And this neurophysicist walks into the place like he owns it.
Maybe he does.
“Joe,” he says, sitting down, “fix me up a stiff one.”
And the bartender bends behind the bar and comes up with one of these silver shakers that rattle like a million dollars on ice and he rattles it and breaks it and there’s this rich brown, velvety fluid emerging from the shaker and sloshing in slow motion into a heavy, cut-crystal glass.
The physicist goes to the lavatory. You know it’s the lavatory because it says lavatory right on the door. Not toilet, not WC. Lavatory.
That’s because the physicist is British and hasn’t taken to the language of wherever it is he is. (more…)
The house was dark, spider webs covering the chandeliers where gaslight used to dance.
“Here,” said the no longer quite-so-young girl, “is the hall of the murder.”
The audience oohed and aahed and sighed, and when her lover flowed through the wall in his faded finery they screamed and ran, solidifying him with their belief while the girl stretched out her hand to caress what could not be touched. (more…)
It is a nail. It’s stuck in a wall, but it’s not my wall.
I work on it, but I can’t figure it out. So I call Abraham Hershlow.
We grew up together, did advanced physics and honors math together, but then Abe got a scholarship and I got to work at a hardware store. Still, Abe’s a good guy. He fixed me up with the job at the university, and I’d rather be a janitor at the U than a manager at Warshaw’s Tools.
“George,” Abe says, “I’d love to help but there’s this review and…”
“Just come look,” I say. “Five minutes.”
“I can’t, George, I really can’t.”
I call him again. And the next day, and the next. Finally he comes down to my box-room in the basement.
“It’s a nail,” he says.
“But look, it’s sticking out of the wall. Out, Abe.” (more…)
My flash fiction “Give them to me” is published in the May 27th issue of Saturday Night Reader.
It’s a 700 word time travel yarn (I’m getting lots of those published lately), hopefully you’ll like it.
Link: Give them to me @ Saturday Night Reader
My flash fiction “The Last Breakfast of Corporal Ashton the Blessed” is out in the May 2015 issue of Jersey Devil Press.
It’s 1250 words, about 5 pages, and you get the whole issue as a PDF or read entire story for free online:
