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Short Fiction
Jim Meirose
Yes; went in, sat a while, had a few—and this guy came and claimed the last empty stool. It’s really okay and nothing to sit close, rubbing elbows with strangers, in a place like this. Just pay no attention, don’t hear...

Serial Fiction
Benny Profane
Slumped beside me in a heavy lethargic malaise is my sometime drinking companion George. George is a gangly wisp of a man with an unchanging uniform and strict daily routine that you have to admire. Measuring around 7ft nothing and weighing well below...

Short Fiction
Kenneth Nolan
Tom Jones got a job in a sex shop in Sydney. A tiny shit-hole, situated in a seedy corner just off George Street near “The Railway Hostel” where he and I first met. He was a Welshman, just like the singer Tom...

Short Fiction
Louise M. Hart
Part 1 Conception Shelagh and Arthur scrambled over the cemetery gates. The moon cast menacing shadows on the ground below and beckoned them to cross the hallowed turf. They often visited the graves during daylight, but this was their first evening visit....

Short Fiction
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...

Short Fiction
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...

Short Fiction
Margaret Karmazin
Though Brianna Kinney had always enjoyed a roof over her head and food on the table (too much of that and not always the right kind), she’d often lacked other things that nourish the soul. At twenty-five, she had still never...

Short Fiction
Camillus John
Arseways by Camillus John by Camillus John After Piero Manzoni Since my editor, Priscilla, assigned me this short story,Arseways by Camillus John,to review, I’ve been at a bamboozled loss to critique it without looking like a pretentious and finely plumed cock, excuse the French....

Serial Fiction
Benny Profane
From the ethers of a gin-induced stupor I snap to on my bar-stool perch. Becoming more conscious, I begin to carefully shake off the slow seeping lethargy that is prone to enshroud one when ensconced for too long at a publican’s...