The Scum Gentry Prose Desk

When She Awoke...

When She Awoke…

Short Fiction
Peter Tammer
When she awoke that bright and sparkling morning Beauty knew it was D-Day. She was in the foulest of moods. She wanted to scream. She wanted to swear. She had never sworn in her life before this day and now she let it out, full voice, she didn’t care if he heard her, she knew he would hear her, “MERDE!” There you are, she said, I’ve done it. I’ve sworn. My life will never be the same again. Today is the last day I’ll spend in this fucking palace where everything is simply marvellous day after day and every day is just the same as the day before, okay, new tricks, new clothes, new meals, but ...
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Dumpster RabbittZ – Part Six

Dumpster RabbittZ – Part Six

Serial Fiction
Bryan Higby and Ricky D. Snyder
Chapter Six We didn’t know it then but a whole world of nightmares was about to be unleashed on our small town of CarLowDen. When I opened my eyes lying on the cot in the police station holding cell, I noticed the streetlamps outside casting in through the barred window to my left. My head ached like the worst hangover in human history. I know about hangovers. So trust me, when John Friend says he’s had a few, more than a few, you believe him. I was a writer, or would be anyway. You know what they say about us writers, we never turn down a drink. Trying to sit up was ...
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Comer / To Eat

Comer / To Eat

Short Fiction
Scott J. Moses
Ezekiel stared over the stillness of the Mexican desert, gun smoke and smelted-iron thick on the cool air. He pressed himself against the dilapidated boards of the shanty and looked to his uncle, who crouched, revolver drawn, peaking around the edge of the weathered shack. “It’s over,” Smiley said, turning to him. “Your first gunfight, I remem—” he stopped when he saw Ezekiel’s revolver sheathed at his side and placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. “Have to carry your weight, boy. You owe me.” Ezekiel brushed his uncle’s hand away. “It ain’t like you said. This ain’t right.” Smiley Sheardon chuckled, slipping bullets from the slots on his belt into his revolver. “Well, if ...
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Waitress Please! I’ll Have the Bit-chop!

Waitress Please! I’ll Have the Bit-chop!

Flash Fiction
Jim Meirose
Hey nearly tripped up tripped down tripped over but bu b—got back on’em okay. Much the wiser. After talking it down over with my waitress we got outta’ ‘dere again. So; talkdown over much more productive than talk down all over. All over; from head to toe front to back inside to outside every cubic anything. As; all over; no more been there done that good bye take care be good watch out best of everything everhing eveing evng eg.; just as said Eh, ‘Horse”. Waitress! Waitress! I’ll have the Bit-chop! Bit-chop Bit-chop Eh “Horse” Bit-chop time to Bit-chop get Bit-chop up morning has broken. Puck. Puck. Puck. Broken. Has morning up Bit-chop get Bit-chop to ...
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My Own Worst Enemy

My Own Worst Enemy

Short Fiction
Jenny Butler
The unmistakable stench of death drew the flies. The contrast was striking, black fly bodies swarming around light pink plastic rollers in a mass of bloodied hair. Blowflies laid their eggs in the woman’s eyes and mouth in the limited fly-knowledge that these moist places are the best and one needs to get in and lay one’s eggs before the corpse desiccates. Some of them got in four minutes after the point of death, not from the smell but from watching from nooks and cracks in the walls, aware of the bloating and the dried-sweat salt on the too-warm skin. When the blood-containing foam started to leak from the nose, all local flies were abroad, even ...
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Fear and Trembling

Fear and Trembling

Short Fiction
Jonah Howell
After a long struggle which left small red indentations in most of the fingers on his right hand, Abe wrenched the keyring from the pocket of his Wranglers, shook out some unidentifiable dust and stray tobacco shavings, untangled the floppy rubber dog’s ears from the ring proper, paused under a wash of guilty pride upon seeing his toddler’s gift, and embarked upon the infinitely more strenuous task of setting his one decrepit key into its lock, his second-least-favorite activity, on account of the myriad infinitesimal bends and cracks where the hexagonal butt of the key attached to the shaft—products of improvisational bottle-opening—the sight of which never failed to fray his already threadbare nerves with the possibility, ...
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The Energy of a Stone

The Energy of a Stone

Short Fiction
Jonathan Darren Garcia
Rosemary Journal #1 4/Virgo/2009 . I tried to kill myself. Still, I lay here like a rigid stone etched with scars and without pulse. It’s been rough getting that out, even on here. It was a moment of weakness on my part. I guess—I’ve had many moments of weakness… I really didn’t enjoy fading in and out of consciousness and seeing my mother in a panic though. That was a first for me. I’ve been inside this hospital for about four days now. I have no access to anything here other than my journal and Whisper. I get to go outside for however long I want if the sun is out. Which is great because ...
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Bonswa, Saint-Jean

Bonswa, Saint-Jean

Short Fiction
Patrick Karl Curley
Staring out the window, Sebastian saw the brash, orange sun of early morning set fire to the tails of trailing clouds. He saw three quarrelling grackles swirling downward to the scorched ground; the tortured, singed grass; the ragged reeds and flies and crow feathers caught on tangles of rusty, broken barbed wire which came away from a fence-post and down in a fractured spiral to the cracked soil. It had been dry for several weeks, but it would surely rain today. An arabesque of emotion uncurled inside him when he thought of that delicate, happy face and those smiling, azure eyes. The scent of her skin was still upon him. He wanted to thank her ...
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