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The Scum Gentry Alternative Arts and Media.
The Scum Gentry Prose Desk: literary magazines and writing websites hub: literary fiction, horror stories, weird fiction and more...

Accidentally Killybegs - Short Story by Brand King

I’d missed my bus to Ardara and wound up in a place called Killybegs instead. I’d have to make do.

I walked up the main street of the little fishing town and saw a sign for budget accommodation. Inside there was no reception, just a flight of stairs that led to a landing and a few beige painted doors. I looked at the sign out front again. There was a phone number. From a phone booth nearby I dialled it and a woman with a heavy accent answered. I told her I was after a room for the night. She said that’d be fine, and nineteen euros, and I said that’d be fine and she said I’ll see you there in a minute. I hung up the phone, walked back to the door of the place and she was there. I gave her money and she gave me a key.

This travelling malarky was easy.

My room was simple—a single bed and a dresser amongst four wooden walls, the planks of which were painted a snot coloured yellow. They didn’t look too soundproof and I wondered if the entire building, or the insides of it at least, weren’t in the final throes of commercial use. The developer squeezing the last few euros from its tired walls before the sledgehammers of gentrification converted it into a Costa. It wasn’t the Hilton, but it suited my purposes and I walked back down the stairs feeling reasonably satisfied I’d put a roof over my head for another night.

Coming in the door as I exited was a tall...


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A Dismemberment of Corpses - Short Story by Richard Barr

For all that is secret will eventually be brought into the open, and everything that is concealed will be brought to light and made known to all.

Luke 8:17


There’d been an incident in work and now an investigation were underway. From the investigation would come a decision, and this decision determined whether or not I’d return to my job in the radiator factory.

‘Will I still get paid?’ I asked my line manager, Gemini.

‘Not until you come back. If you come back,’ he replied. Under his annoying nasally voice I could hear the distant rotations of the production line, efficiently at work in my absence.

I stayed indoors for a week, staring at the wall, thinking about things and counting out what measly coinage I had left myself with. Then, when I ventured out, I found it were a hard thing to do reacquainting myself with civic deportment, for example choosing a side of the street/aisle/walkway to go along, and letting the person coming choose theirs. 3 times I put myself nose to nose with some bod, stuck in a this-way that-way shimmy run through with sorries. Anyway, I made it to the cheapo shop up on North Street: stocked up on shite-wipe and coffee; the essentials...


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Prepare my spaghetti dinner immediately! - Short Story by Jim Meirose

Hello there Davis family! Prepare my spaghetti dinner immediately! Janie told me she would be at Frank’s. I can bet that by now you’re on tenterhooks knowing that in just about a single decade you will be called home to Bern and processed through the process and begin your well-earned lives, which by the way we will number Davis family lifetime 2.0. She agreed to be here at seven so we could watch the next prep video together. We are glad to tell you that our research and planning is well ahead of schedule and we will be ready and waiting in every one of the hundreds of multifaceted ways that we must be prepared to take you in live spit you out between lives in process status, that is—and then send you out fresh and alive and ready to hold hands together with all tests behind you, and to enter the Gallant Neoteric New Nature of human existence which is what we term the life beyond death that our process will vault you three into. Dinner will be out in about twelve minutes. But—there is a wave of feeling rippling through your ranks—maybe not with you Davises in particular, but across the body of club members at large. I’m bringing the pasta to a boil now. Get out the pots and the pans and all necessary utensils. This is the problem of being on the easy-coast downhill side of the hump that you are all on realizing now that your process is actually going to happen, and that it is really really true that those of you who were raised in a cult that made you believe in the fallacy called heaven, are feeling a hollow virtual sinkhole-like suction down and down...


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