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Latest Stories

July 08, 2025
General Stories Michael Barlett

Dance Of Death

CHAPTER ONE 1940 Chief Inspector Kenneth Langford offered the Commissioner a crisp salute, and then walked back through the labyrinth of passageways to his own small office. Langford was a member of the London Metropolitan Police, commonly referred to as…
July 08, 2025
Poetry Markus J

The Winter Blues

the winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight Its icy tentacles wrap around me and squeezes freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite staving off the cold is a battle, an endless fight it brings forth an assortment of nasty diseases The winter…
July 08, 2025
Horror Stories Sushma R Doshi

Deliverer Of Messages

A loner in my childhood, my scrawny and weak figure prone to being bullied by sturdy and robust boys, I tended to wander around places frequented by few. Those curvy roads which fell into darkness after evening without street lights, the area near the pond…
July 08, 2025
General Stories L Christopher Hennessy

With A Side-Eye I Cherish

for Brittany ma amour Up to my neck in sadness for something just out of reach and she came along and fired up my life with kisses and the physical. The moment I looked into her eyes I didn't want to share her with anyone else and keep her all to myself. In…
July 03, 2025
Poetry Markus J

The Days Of Future Dreams

the days of future dreams the flames once rose high thinking our lives would end up supreme thinking our future seemed a far of dream but in the end nothing is what it seems many times the winds of changed has blown this way one minute we`re lapping the cream…
July 03, 2025
General Stories L Christopher Hennessy

Bad Girl

Part 1I lost the entire manuscript when I assassinated my laptop with sauvignon blanc as I rubbed the lower back of a woman who dozed drunk on my bed, sweating. She was crazed, somewhere between screaming and lying about the orgasm. Bree was a miracle to me,…
July 03, 2025
Horror Stories Nelly Shulman

Black Is Our Colour

“I swear she could have been you. Look! This girl is your long-lost twin.” Fi nudged me, and I smiled. “Never had or wanted one.” I stood up. “Let’s go, or the bargain hunters will clear the shelves before us.” We dived into the vintage emporium across the…
July 03, 2025
Poetry Markus J

The Transformation

"I need a brake" words that twisted my heart- shattering the dream that we would never part. I asked myself 'what ever did I do wrong? sad, gloominess could`ve easily been my song. I wouldn't let the anger and misery grow or cultivate- uprising feelings I…
July 03, 2025
Flash Fiction Benoit

Jae

It was Jae’s birthday today. She turned eight. What a beautiful sunny girl! Hyo planned a surprise or two; Li, his wife, did too. Birthday cake, a puppy and … Don’t forget, they grinned just before he drove off. Traffic was intense. A long call came from…
July 03, 2025
General Stories Matias Travieso-Diaz

Fear

Leandro stood outside the Kroger, leaning forward as he shivered in the early March dawn. He hated this moment: the cold, the fatigue, the feeling of helplessness, the anticipation of another day ahead at his degrading job picking collard leaves under the…
July 03, 2025
Horror Stories Mihko Askiweno

Found You

Panic gripped her as she staggered up the steep, rocky incline, breath coming in jagged, shallow gasps. Sweat streamed down her face in torrents, her hair clinging to her forehead and cheeks in disheveled clumps. Her legs trembled with exhaustion, molten fire…
July 03, 2025
Poetry Markus J

Lost On The Path

But alas; sometimes I think we've lost our way- too many strayed opinions...one too many a survey. Walking on the road ahead, just following the herd of sheep- with a hypnotised mind, wide awake yet very fast asleep. While yelling...join the team of the…

Distance from my second floor window on Fourth Street to Anna’s apartment across the street was a canyon, a gulf stretching six thousand miles.  Back to the place that haunted my dreams, made my hands shake, killed ambition and chilled friendships.

 

So shocked when I saw her face, the scarred left side of her cheek that she tried to cover with her long dark hair.  But the eyes, her eyes were the same green I saw when she stared at me through the smoke after the gunfire stopped.

 

How the fuck could she turn up in my city, my block, across my street!

 

*  *  *

 

The day when it all went down the sky was the color of dirty pavement, the countryside erupted in yellow dust, and humid air smelled of death even before we entered the village.

 

A bad day, a very bad day to die.  Six of our platoon — my brothers — bought it when an IED took out their Bradley the day before.  Then Ruiz was popped by a sniper as he sat down to eat.  Barnabas, our squad leader, screamed at us to move out.

 

We moved.  A team of three — Alex, the Joker and Tyrone — smashed in the front door of the piece-of-shit mud hut where we thought the shot came from.  Place went under heavy fire for a full minute.  Maybe two, then they came out, thumbs up, and walked on.

 

I followed, but stopped to look inside the house.  That girl was the only one alive, huddled like a pile of rags in a corner.  Those green eyes asking What the hell did you do to my family?  Her family was all over the floor and table.  No more breakfast for them.

 

How can the eyes say so much without words?

 

*  *  *

 

Back at the Company I found the First Shirt.  Asked who we’d killed.

 

“Fucking enemy, that’s who.”

 

“One was still alive.  A young woman.”

 

“So?”

 

“Does she have a name?  Any of them?”

 

He sorted some papers.  “Battalion says Abbadabba-something.  Fuck you expect?”

 

“But I heard Mosul had a lot of Christians.  Were they Christian or Muslim?

 

“Fuck do you care?  Okay.  The chick is named Anna.  What kind of name is that over here?  Now get out.”

 

Week later I went to the hospital in town.  Just curious.  I saw her, bandages on her face.  “Shrapnel,” the Iraqi doc said.  “She will live.  Her father was translator for Army.”

 

*  *  *

 

Who do you talk to about shit like that?  Pinheads in the Pentagon had redeployed me back to the front three times.  I told an Army shrink I was hearing static in my head, couldn’t think straight, thought I might kill myself.  One more body wouldn’t make a difference.

 

He said, “Get back to your unit and quit malingering.”

 

When the saviors wipe out a family who did nothing, don’t we got a right to get crazy?

 

Found a priest — guess he was.  An old fart.  No collar, so he might’ve been some other kind of padre.  “Son, we all have our cross to bear.  I see nothing but good coming in the end — if there is an end.  Will you pray with me?”

 

What good’s prayer if you’re dead?  It’s a cop out for the living to get off the hook.

 

*  *  *

 

Anna, I’m scared.  I haven’t got the guts to talk to you.  I kept telling myself to cross the street and explain how it all went down.  I felt strangled even thinking about it.  I couldn’t do it.

 

So I watched.  I’d see her go out on an errand, running like a mouse caught when you turn on the kitchen lights.  Returning with bags of food or whatever.  Or I’d see through her window as she messed around in the kitchen.

 

I didn’t pull the trigger, but could she ever forgive me?  Maybe if I lied.  Said I was over there once, building schools or some shit.  Welcome to America, Anna.

 

Once, I saw her standing on the stoop and staring at the sky.  Tears came to my eyes because she was so small and sad.  Beautiful except for the scar.  She could have been an American, someone’s girlfriend, someone looking for a good job, a step up the ladder.

 

*  *  *

 

Took me a long time, but I wrote a letter.  Lots, but I tore them all up.  Finally said, You don’t know me but I heard from neighbors that you are from Iraq.  I was there once and loved the country and its people.  I live across the street from you.  If I can do anything to help you in your new country please let me know.

 

I signed it and added my phone number.  Late that night I slipped the note under her door.  And waited.  I’d added that lie about loving Iraq.  One more sin wouldn’t make a difference.

 

Two days went by and she didn’t call.  Maybe she didn’t speak English.  Or gave my note to someone who probably said I was a stalker.

 

*  *  *

 

Maybe a week later I was sitting on the stoop drinking a beer when she came out.  She saw me.  I stood up.  Lifted my hand to wave.  Smiled.  A welcome-to-America smile.

 

An odd look crossed her face.  Except for the left side that was scarred and would never move.  She came down the steps to begin crossing the chasm between us.

 

At that second I saw a cab kamikaze around the corner, aiming at Anna.  I jumped in its path, hitting Anna with a body block.  Saw her float back to the sidewalk as the cab hit me.  I arced over the hood and hit the street, thunk, like someone had dropped a hundred eighty-pound bag of something.

 

Cabbie hit his brakes.  Then just stopped.  No one got out.

 

I was hurt bad, but the pain hadn’t begun.  The clouds above broke for a second and I saw blue sky.

 

Bad.  I was either going to make it or I wouldn’t.  I wasn’t afraid of death.  I’d paid my dues now.  If I made it through the day, it would be a good day.  If I was going to die, well, it was a good day for Anna.

 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Anna’s bewildered look, her eerie green eyes saying, “So this is America.”

 

#  #  #

 

Bio:  Walt Giersbach bounces between writing genres, from mystery to humor, speculative fiction to romance.  His work has appeared in print and online in over a score of publications.  Two volumes of short stories, Cruising the Green of Second Avenue, are available at Barnes & Noble and other online booksellers.  He’s also bounced from Fortune 500 firms to university posts, and from homes in eight states and a couple of Asian countries.

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