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Latest Stories

July 28, 2018
Mystery Stories Roger Ley

The Wheel Fiddle

The melody drifted across the garden as she was picking fruit to make a summer pudding. She put down her basket, wiped the sweat from her forehead and walked around to the front of the cottage. The man stood waiting at her garden gate, he raised his cap. He…
July 28, 2018
Flash Fiction Rekha Viswanathan

Pills and Capsules

I wake up to a crisp, clear and sunny morning. The fresh coffee smell beside my bed tempts me. One long sip of the coffee and my senses kick in! I have a long day ahead. At least that's what the papers at the foot of my bed say. Glancing at the paper I see…
July 28, 2018
Crime Stories Stephen A Murray

Russia,Russia,Russia.

There existed in Russia a small group of intelligence operatives left over from the KGB. They are known as Sputniks. From Wikipedia: "Sputnik was the first artificial Earth satellite. The Soviet Union launched it into an elliptical low Earth orbit on October…
July 28, 2018
General Stories Paul Anobile

A Portrait of Slam Bang City

I was hired to paint the portrait of a billionaire who founded a small city twenty years ago in a ghost town he purchased in Arizona. Danny O’Keefe, professional wrestling promoter and executive, convinced a number of investors to build a fourteen-thousand…
July 28, 2018
Science Fiction Stories Majoki

The Deadest Generation

Sergeant Taylor always checked us thoroughly before sending us in: regulation uniform, backpacks, anti-ballistic helmets, Kevlar vests, and, of course, your gun. You couldn’t go anywhere in this place and be safe without your gun. Sergeant Taylor was strict…
July 28, 2018
General Stories J.B.Stevens

Dead Camel

The improvised explosive popped off to the convoy’s left. The armored black Suburban Neil drove muffled the sound to a dull thud. The blast seemed smaller than normal. “Anyone hurt?” the medic, Luiz, called across the radio. The team members, in four matching…
July 28, 2018
Romance Stories Jerry Hogan

He'll Ask Me To Dance Again

Jay I’m Jay, and I have never been to the My Time Dance Studio before tonight. As I entered, the interior projected a garish 1930s Art Deco motif. Greenish, glow-in-the-dark, semilucent plastic tubing wrapped around the hand railings separating one sitting…
July 28, 2018
General Stories Jim Bartlett

The Comebacker

Cornstalk stretches forward, the look almost as if he’s about to fall headfirst off the mound, saved only by the slapping of his left hand to his knee. He locks eyes with his catcher, then lets his gaze wander down just below his glove for the sign. Uncle…
July 28, 2018
Crime Stories Susan C. Nigra

Never Kill The Author

Oh My God! What’s happening? This has never happened before. I am cornered, trapped, boxed in with no safe way out. There has always been a way out before, miraculous last minute saves. I think back to how I got here and I remember I was assigned this case as…
July 28, 2018
Crime Stories Thomas Schmidt

The Streets of Camden

Saturday night was cold and wet. Mike Joseph walked cautiously down Norris Street on his way to the Whitman Park Field, a large green space inside the depressed neighborhood. Propositioned twice by street walkers, he kept moving while shifting his head from…
July 13, 2018
Mystery Stories Rekha Viswanathan

The Enchanted Woods

The boys are on a trip. A trip into the woods. Accompanied by their family they trudge along a narrow path, a route that had obviously been traced by human footsteps, a trail that had been trodden many a time. They walk cautiously, startled by the snap of a…
July 13, 2018
Flash Fiction Carl Perrin

What Could go Wrong

If you plan every detail carefully, nothing can go wrong. I believed that when I was a teenager. Like the time Billy Long and I decided to make our own beer. Once in a while we used to steal a couple of Billy’s father’s beers, but we were always afraid we…

 

 

Once upon a time, yo, I was droppin’ these mad beats. I mean, my jams were killer, man. It was Tommy Finkelstein’s bar mitzvah, my first paying gig, and the kids loved me! I was catching the eyes of some of the hot mamas in the crowd too, I kid you not. Mrs. Finkelstein was totally picking up what I was putting down.

An hour into the party, right as I was hitting my stride, melding this sweet Prince song into a Michael Jackson one with this sick wizzy wizzy wick, Tommy’s brother Joel comes tearing by with a cup in his hand. The narbo. He trips, and the cup flies toward me. I just know there’s about to be Crystal Pepsi all over my turntable. I was buggin.’ I had to mow my Aunt Ruth’s lawn for two summers to earn enough money for my turntable.

But to my relief, the cup was only filled with dried beans. Weird, right? They flew onto my turntable and started vibrating, twittering and trembling to the bass coming from my sick speakers. So I thought, hey man, no problem. I’ll just scratch the turntable a bit and shake them off.

But yo, man, these beans were magic. I swear, no lie! They started jumping and jamming to my beats. Two of them must’ve been Michael Jackson fans; they were moonwalking. Others started turning my EQ knobs to pull out the bass. I gotta admit, despite not having ears, these beans’ mixing was killer. The kids were amped. It was schweet!

Mrs. Finklestein, though, needed a chill pill; she started yelling at Joel for getting into his father’s experiments. Joel whined that he’d only wanted to show the beans to Lily Oppenheimer, this girl he’s crushing on. Mrs. F wasn’t having it; she yelled for her husband. I’s afraid Mr. F. would be fuming to the max, so I quickly played a Bangles song to calm him down. Mr. F. thinks Susanna Hoff’s wicked hot.

But when Mr. F came in, he just shook his head like he was bummed and said, ‘Too late. The specimens have imprinted on the DJ.’ I didn’t know what he meant, but whatevs. By this point, me and the beans had become BFFs. So I quickly said that I’d be happy to take them as payment. A Numark 1775 mixer is so bunk compared to magic beans, ya know? The Finkelsteins agreed, so now the beans and I are in serious rehearsals.

These beans and me, yo? We’re going to be famous!

So when you see me spinning my jams at the most happenin’ clubs in New York City, remember that you heard my name here first: Melvin Koszlawski, DJ Bean Master Def.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Zoe Powell is a steampunk and urban fantasy writer who lives in Chicago.

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