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Short Stories |
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| Death's Grand Design by Cynthia Vespia | |
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“I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.” Those were the last words she spoke to him for tomorrow never came for either of them. With one stupid, drunken accident the light of his life went out that night. And with her passing, he wished that the spectre's skeletal hand that reached out to claim her had taken him too.READ THE FULL STORY |
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| Alone, as always by Jennifer Gardner | |
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Friday AM, the day of... He sleeps beside me, his arm draped loosely over me like the dustjacket of a book. I feel the hair on his arm grazing the bare skin of my stomach which rises with each laboured breath I take. A hundred times this has happened exactly this way; I awaken before him, feeling his hot breath billowing against the back of my neck. He is so close to me, so physically close. Yet, I'm alone; as always. READ THE FULL STORY |
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| Tough Love by Sean Hoade | |
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Do you know how to tell
if an electrical cord is frayed? It took me a while to spot them as
well as I can now, but with practice and a few bad shocks I soon honed
my observational skills to the point where a slit in the insulation,
or one stray, copper strand poking out, was like a siren going off in
my head. I also learned to watch out for lamps that had been unplugged,
loose light bulbs and trailing wires where there clearly shouldn't be
any. If you have any sense you'll always carry a flashlight to check
for similar traps. Popping a plug into a socket with a split flex is
asking to feel the muscle-contracting thud of 240 volts AC surging through
you. If you're unlucky enough to hear your eardrums galvanise into a
high-pitched scream, you may not live to tell the tale. READ THE FULL STORY |
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| Give in to me by Jennifer Gardner | |
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It was late and the alley was dark and
silent. All that could be heard was the clicking of stilettos on rain-washed
asphalt as Kym walked quickly home. Her hands were buried deeply in the
pockets of a very expensive leather jacket and her long legs quivered
slightly against the cold night air that seeped into her bones and made
her quicken her step.
She knew better than to be walking through
an ill-lit alley in the dead of night. But she was young and feisty,
and confident that she could handle trouble if she had to. |
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| Why I dine alone by David Agosta | |
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 I
must begin by explaining that it has been my habit since childhood to
sit with people who would otherwise find themselves alone. At first it
was a mixture of pity towards these outcasts and recognition that I am
an outcast myself that caused me to seek out the most disdained wretch
in any society. In retrospect, I understand that this practice made me
feel less the wretch myself. Later, it remained my practice simply because
I find society’s outcast to be far more interesting than normal, acceptable
people. It was this habit that led me to a peculiar friendship with Tony;
a man with whom I had nothing in common and found rather loathsome.
READ THE FULL STORY |
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| Bloody Sheets by Jennifer Gardner | |
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I sat there, gently holding her fingers
in mine as I literally watched the love drain from her eyes. One moment
she loved me. The next moment, nothing. Her face was without any trace
of affection. I told her over and over again that I loved her; I have
always loved her, I always will love her, but she didn't believe me.
In her blue eyes I saw only distrust. I died in that instant. Her hand
felt cold and I knew it would always be. No matter how much I loved
her, she wouldn't love me back. My heart seemed to stop beating, but
the rest of my body imitated life. |
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