Short Fiction, Poetry and Classic Book Reviews
He returned and stood in front of the toilet and, with renewed peace of mind, relieved himself. The rattle returned and a metallic clank came from the toilet bowl. Victor peered down and saw, creeping up out of the water, a wasp the size of a salt shaker. He hurriedly sheathed his short sword and... Continue Reading →
In the hall, Victor put on his shirt and jacket, which were both miraculously clean and dry. Even the fragrance of lemon juice had left his clothing; all that remained was a hint of body odour (forgivable after a day spent walking beneath the scorching country sun). He looked up and down the passageway; if... Continue Reading →
My grandad had a hacksaw with teeth just like a shark, I put it in my backpack when we visited the park. I threw it in the pond but the hacksaw didn't swim, It had teeth like a shark but it didn't have the fins. My grandad had false teeth as straight as piano... Continue Reading →
There was a clunk and a grunt. Victor looked up. "Ow, sh**," said the blind man. He stood beside the table, rubbing his hip. "Need some help, Gloucester?" asked Victor. "Because if you can't see with those glasses—" "Nay!" yelled the blind man. With his right hand he held the glasses to his face; his... Continue Reading →
The blind man placed the gun on the floor by his feet. "To think," he said, "that Gloucester may yet see the Daystar rise upon England's emerald dales once more. The blush of autumn, the bloom of spring—and to look upon thy face again, Edgar, my son." He smiled and sighed, but then his look... Continue Reading →
"My son," pleaded the blind man, through a scowl. "Edgar, apple of mine eye, dost thou live?" Victor's every muscle tensed as leeches crawled on his neck. There was a crack high above, and part of the uppermost shelf collapsed, tipping its books like dominoes onto one another until the final one teetered on the... Continue Reading →
The blind man removed his hood and blood spurted from his empty eye sockets as though shot from a pump action water gun. Victor dropped his jacket and stumbled back, trying to shield his face. For a solid minute the gory sprinklers drenched the room, only tapering off to a dribble after having turned the... Continue Reading →
It seems communism is much like Samson from the bible—it killed a lot of people and left those it spared with a deep distrust and resentment toward it. My friend Neil is also like Samson, in that he has long hair and lives with his parents. But no one has written a book about Neil... Continue Reading →
Out in the hall Victor squirmed and jumped around as though trying to shake a cluster of spiders from his skin. He wiped his hand on his pants, the wall, the floor, the bottom of his shoe—anything to try and scrape the putrid slime from his fingers where he had touched the doorknob. "Argh! Gross!... Continue Reading →