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Latest Stories

January 27, 2023
Flash Fiction Marina Krasavtseva

Je t’aime… Moi non plus

Her first tear was a pleasure. Now, her eyes red and puffy, he felt somewhat disgusted but still satisfied with what he had done. Her sobbing was pleasing, but when she would open her mouth…He just wanted to punch her, stifle her or whatever it would take to…
January 27, 2023
Crime Stories Peter Greenhall

The Bank Robbery

Dev, a second generation Indian male, arrived early to work. He was the branch manager and responsible for the transferring of cash to a security van that arrived every Wednesday. Every week Dev arrived for work, alone, to meet the private company. On getting…
January 27, 2023
General Stories Emanuel Diaz

Oh Rats !

Francoch Ratta, a 27-year-old New Yorker of Irish-Italian descent, woke up one morning to find he had a peculiar sensation. It was as if someone, or something, was watching him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was a feeling that wouldn't go…
January 27, 2023
Poetry Peter Greenhall

Broken Hearted

Didn't take a knife, A gun, Or Strangulation, From anyone. No weapons of mass destruction, Powerfully, No cloak and dagger stuff, Sneakily. What you did, When you left me, What you did, Utterly destroyed me. Don't love me anymore, What am I to do? Didn't see…
January 24, 2023
Flash Fiction Greg Crow

The god Of Time And Space

There was a young man named Greg. He was an ordinary man, living an ordinary life, but he had a secret that he kept hidden from the world. He had the power to control time and space. Greg had discovered his power when he was just a teenager. He had been…
January 24, 2023
Poetry Peter Greenhall

My First Therapist

Imploding, Exploding, Fighting, And Hurting. Some of things I want to do, Cause much pain, To myself, And to others too. In my early 20's, Life's meant to be free, In my early 20's, Felt trapped within me. Raging inside, Volcanic activity, Some part of me…
January 24, 2023
Mystery Stories Emanuel Diaz

Let Me Protect You

It was a normal day for Arabella Barlow. She was working in her garden growing some of her vegetables to sell in her stall inside the Borough Market in London. She was at peace and content by doing this while she waited for her beloved husband Cenric Barlow.…
January 18, 2023
Flash Fiction Reen

Cold Chaos

An expected delay, the blue line will arrive in 8 minutes now. A smell of burning fire fills the startled air from the act of defrosting the CTA rail. While I take deep breaths, tiny droplets of liquid water and ice are seen in the air as a cloud. On this…
January 16, 2023
Poetry Paweł Markiewicz

The New Celtic Ode To The Dreamed Mother Nature

ABABACACA You are an enjoyable juniper! You are a pleasurable bush! You are an agreeable poplar! You are a delightful spruce! You are a gratifying cedar! You are an amusing birch! You are a diverting corn! You are a bonny pine! You are a lovely palm! Your…
January 16, 2023
Fantasy Stories Rafique Shabbir

The Return To Malneant

Almeric had not slept ever since the death of his wife whose murder was committed by his hands. He could not imagine what madness had impelled him to spill the blood of someone so pure and innocent. Nevertheless, the guilt manifested itself in his dreams as…
January 16, 2023
Poetry Peter Greenhall

Undercover Copper

I used to wear a uniform, Wore it brand new, Proud to be wearing that uniform, Happily arresting the scum amongst you. Football violence, Scuffles and domestics, Car crashes and possession, Total Mayhem. Undercover work, Is calling me, A bit cloak and dagger,…
January 16, 2023
Flash Fiction Emanuel Diaz

The Starry-Eyed One Maddening Sight

As Gustav Von Valentijn sat in front of The Starry Night, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe wash over him. He had spent a small fortune to acquire the painting from the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and now it was the centerpiece of his sanctuary -…

Lurching awake, gasping for air, and I've dreamt of her again. It's the same as always, lately. She's in Hell, neck deep in snake’s blood, with a foetus hanging above her, and her head is on fire. It doesn't get any better, not even with the pills.

The psychiatrist has asked me what else occurs in this dream.

“ The foetus is crying, “ I told her.

“ You sustained a serious injury in the accident. A car crash is a big deal, Tom. “

The accident...

It had been raining and we were on our way home from the theatre. Annette had wanted to see a stage play. The Woman in Black, that was it. She was twenty-five weeks pregnant. Our first.

A drunk driver collected us head on, without warning, an hour out of town. The impact was highly severe.

I suffered a head injury and Annette was killed outright. It took some time for the emergency services to arrive. I don't know how long we were there until they were notified.

Annette's corpse had expelled our baby, someone who would've been our little girl. She was much like a coffin birth, so I'm told.

I held Annette's hand. It was the only thing I could feel in the wreckage.

Her family buried them both, while I was in hospital, and her brother came to visit me, but only once. They haven't contacted me since.

The drunk driver survived and he and I were only four beds apart in ICU. I awoke before he did and they relocated him to a different hospital. His name was Daryl Hibbert.

The newspaper had a great time with the story. It was going to trial, of course, once Hibbert was well enough. They spoke politely of Annette: Sadly missed school teacher in tragic wreck, wife of senior detective, all that stuff.

Well, I'm not a detective any more.

Annette and I met a fund raiser to do with the awareness of drug addiction and teen suicide. She was twelve years younger than I, beautiful, with auburn hair, and hazel eyes. I'd rarely had the chance to have a love interest, let alone get married.

After a series of surgeries, I had to be moved to a rehabilitation unit. My progress was good, all cognitive and motor skills  seemed to be okay, except for two things. My handwriting wasn't so hot and each time Hibbert, or Annette's name was mentioned, my left hand involuntarily grabbed sharp objects, like a knife, or pen, and proceeded to stab the table, or a chair. I was completely unaware of it.

I wounded several hospital staff.

“ Hey, Tom, “ they would say. “ That Hibbert just got seven years, “ and my left hand would start going at it.

Quite soon, I was disallowed sharp objects.

Finally, I was sent home, given pills, referred into counselling.

Recently, they discovered that in the accident, the two spheres of my brain had torn from each other. This is what causes my involuntary violent actions. Apparently, I can be taught to control it by avoiding things that trigger it.

But I can't avoid my dreams, that reoccurring nightmare. That's when my hand gets the worst.

It has started to choke me in my sleep.

 

End

BIO: I live in Orange, New South Wales, Australia. I have one child -a daughter. I was born in 1977. My poetry has appeared in anthologies worldwide and my short stories have appeared in men's magazines. I cite James Herbert, Tales From the Crypt, vintage Penny Dreadfuls, and Ripley's Believe it, or Not as an influence.

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