The dwarf shifted in the dim light, his milky white skin glistening with sweat. Pale eyes as bleached as his skin glanced across at the bodies of his brethren and a snarl escaped softly from thin lips. He was naked except for cotton trousers and hairless but for a sheen of white down across his scalp. His legs were thick and sinewy beneath a thickset body that stood almost four feet in height.
Kassi Seishin adjusted her sword and kept her own eyes upon the squat creature before her. She was a good two feet taller than the dwarf but down here where gravity was stronger the dwarf’s larger frame assisted him in ways her wiry build did not. Managing that extra weight was hard work and all the dwarf really had to do was be patient. He was adapted to this environment in ways that Kassi was not, besides her armour sat heavily on her. She paused; confident she would not need to wait long. Dwarfs were notoriously impatient. Continue reading “Kassi and the Dungeon by Ste Whitehouse”
Cassie’s ghost walked through the front door and stepped into the hallway. As always, she dropped the phantom briefcase by the post at the foot of the stairs, and then carried on walking towards the kitchen.
Edward stepped out of the living room, an exercise book in one hand, a red pen in the other. He watched, transfixed, as the ghost walked past. Not scared, not fazed at all after seeing this scene play out so many times, but rapt at the sight of his wife’s ghost again. He followed her and stood just outside the kitchen, watching the ghost at the sink that overlooked the garden, seeing the cold tap dripping through the filter of her translucent body. The ghost turned around and smiled towards one of the chairs around the table, rolling her eyes, then turned to face him. She seemed to notice him and she smiled again. Edward smiled back. Continue reading “Cassie’s Ghost by Paul Nevin”
Penn was very special to his parents, very dear, as they used to say. By the time he entered his late childhood, he had been subject to more supervision, worry and love than most kids ever were. In the view of these other kids and some adult observers (like me), his had given him the demeanour of a little prince. During his first check-up after he turned ten, I noticed that he was perfect, and perhaps this was a problem.
“There’s nothing wrong with you at all,” I said. Continue reading “The Image of His Parents by Laurence Klavan”
“I don’t care who’s requested it. You’re not playing a song called, “Conceived in Sin, Born in Pain…” err…”
I try to be helpful: “It’s “Conceived in Sin, Born in Pain, a Life of Toil, and Inevitable Death”, boss.”
“Right. You’re NOT playing, on the public airwaves, a song called “Conceived in Sin, Born in Pain, a Life of Toil, and Inevitable Death”, by a group called Dog’s Breath and the Puppypoopers.” Continue reading “Wunnerful Radio Sherwoo-oood… by Michael Bloor”
Doris is taking her usual stroll on the beach. She’s not as fast those days and the footsteps she leaves on the ochre ground are so close together, almost forming a line. A snail trail, she thinks.
How many times has she walked on this beach? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands?
Continue reading “Where the old teahouse used to be by B.F. Jones”
‘Those bastards never deserved a second chance,’ Bret said, talking to himself as usual. Though nothing was usual tonight. Three of his clients were dead, and he was on his way to a safe house outside of London, in the woody byroads surrounding some forgotten little town. Weygone. Weydon. Something like that anyway. The point was, no one ever looked for him here.
The road was narrow, twisting between colourless trees. If he drove fast enough it would tear, show itself to be a stage backdrop. The car felt real however. It was a beautiful Mitsubishi Lancer, a relic some would say, but the wheel in his hands, the titanium frame, the three litre engine purring, these were all totems to reality. Reality was an important thing to a man like Bret. Continue reading “The Final Tape by Joseph Sale”
They filed into the room one by one. Each with their own freshly hewed scars. Cheap coffee and day-old biscuits had been laid out on a table in the back and a few of them poured a cup, but no one spoke. When it was time, they took their seats.
“I’d like to welcome you all to the group,” one of them rumbled. “My name is Fenrir and I’m a wolf.” Continue reading “Because We Care by Cooper Anderson”