Prose

Serial Fiction
Bryan Higby and Ricky D. Snyder
Chapter Four Miles Schakowsky was punching the clock, about an hour and a half late, at The CarLowDen Animal Control Department when he heard the telephone ring in the front office. That asshole Bernie had probably skipped out...

Daniel Wade
Short Fiction
Visitors are to be warned about the island of Inish-Selskar. Lurking firm and unbeaten by the storms and rogue waves of the pitiless Atlantic seaboard, it is located twenty miles northwest of the Inishowen Peninsula in Donegal, its steep, overhanging sea-cliffs...

Novel Excerpt
Peter Marra
I. The first corpse was found one week ago. Reports indicated it was a male, about fifty years of age, who had a reputation for selling narcotics and engaging in stalking and raping. He was well-known on the streets by the moniker...

Short Fiction
Rory Dwayne
Why does it feel I’ve lived this night before? Mike thought as he guided the bus down the road. Sometimes it feels that a night can go on forever. Even as the new day dawns, you find your mind slip back into...

Serial Fiction
Bryan Higby and Ricky D. Snyder
Chapter Three Bernie Falchuk was fast asleep behind his desk at the CarLowDen Animal Control Department when he received the call about the possible 10-91L, animal attack, at the abandoned CarLowDen Golf Course. He had been sleeping off...

Short Fiction
David King
You get a preview of what’s to come. If you were alone, you’d be sitting in a tiny little Housing Commission flat in the Park Street towers South Melbourne looking down over the street with some race caller gunning for vocal...

Short Fiction
Jim Meirose
First dog growing up, then long time, no; then cat growing up, then long time, no; then rat mouse mole hog hippo rhino growing up, same way but, still quite improper, still long time, no. Flora thought there would never be...

Short Fiction
Alex Jasper
The Lip Shanahan was mad as hell. He swung his Toyota Corolla into a clearing above at Leck, overlooking Ballywacken town. The town simmered under a distinct blanket of smog, vape and Corolla fumes, giving the midlands town an eerie quality...

Short Fiction
Jeff Bagato
Stolen stories translated into new language—a language never before spoken—never to be spoken—the unspoken present time. Immediate words exist before signs. All language is past time. All past time is dead time. Language of past is language of future. Pussy is...