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Latest Stories

June 17, 2018
Poetry Marty Kay

Hand of God

Then there you were. Calling through the din of war, you beckoned, and I obeyed. I make amends. The muzzle of my gun muted, I mask my military might and squat to greet your greatness. Give me your hand. For I am more than war. A mother; my name is Mary. Call…
June 17, 2018
Crime Stories Scott Sinclair

Saturday Night at Fort Apache

Saturday February 8, 1973 I never thought I’d be a cop on the take. Hell, I never planned on being a cop period. My goal was to follow in the footsteps of my older brother Scotty and join the fire department. Succumbing to family pressure to not follow Scotty…
June 17, 2018
Romance Stories Alicia Aitken

The Lemon Sherbet Cafe

Emily Chambers stood on the wooden decking that surrounded her cafe watching the tide slowly come in. Just over a year ago, she would have chuckled bitterly at anyone who dared to tell her that this is where she’d be. At that time, she was at her weekly…
June 17, 2018
Crime Stories David De Santo

As Good As It Gets

The detective proceeded cautiously. It wasn't comfortable driving on a dark country road at night. The long narrow stretch of highway faded in the distance. The barren land looked like one of those places that had been declared dead but refused to die. There…
June 17, 2018
Horror Stories Patric Quinn

When It's Time To Go

(Harold and Vlad are a pair of aging monsters. Harold is a werewolf who no longer fully transforms during a full moon. Vlad is a vampire with dental problems.) The night was beautiful in the cemetery, especially one as old as this one. The full moon on the…
June 10, 2018
Poetry BR Giga

The Fix

Cool steel penetrates consciousness, piercing the ravenous flesh. slowly the Momentary agony is Dispelled by the plunging rush of toxic euphoria. the elated quest for Weightless tranquility begins to Transcend the mortality of mindless despair. mercifully,…
June 10, 2018
Horror Stories Grace Treutel

Braised Heart

When I saw him for the first time, I knew I had to have him for dinner. It was in the ripe red of his mouth, the plush of his lower lip. The hollows of his cheeks were little inlets for his amusement, surprise dusting his high cheekbones from the shadows of…
June 10, 2018
Science Fiction Stories R.Scott Venegas

The Bottom Line

 Motivated by the odium of self-aggrandizing butt-hurt under the guise compassion for the surplus population, perceived slight of the day, those who were productive, hatred for anyone not in agreement with her views and hunger, Duhlia Abzoog wormed through…
June 10, 2018
Horror Stories Elin Ridge


The rust-coloured blood flakes off my hands and falls to the ground like snow. Grime is caked underneath my fingernails and twigs nest in my hair. My shirt is torn, boots covered in mud. My throat is closing with my heart beating out of my chest. Sweat drips…
June 10, 2018
Mystery Stories Jerry Hogan

The Flopping Arm Burial

When I was fifteen, Mom told me that we were going to the funeral of her Great Aunt Mildred. I never heard of Great Aunt Mildred. “Who? Are you kidding me?” I said. “Jay, don’t give me a hard time,” Mom scolded. “We are going to pay homage to my grandmother’s…
June 09, 2018
Romance Stories Brian Glass

She Needs To Go

She had to get away. The timing wasn't ideal, but when was it ever? Her boyfriend of six years proposed last month and she had said yes. They met at one of the Marist College dining halls. He was a junior, she a sophomore. There might have been a slight…
June 09, 2018
General Stories E.Louise Jolly

The Doctor and the Pear Tree Switch

"Robert! I will not speak to you again. I want you to quit teasing your little sister.” "But Mama, she kicks my marbles every time she goes by!” "If you two can't play together without quarreling I will have to punish you both. Remember, my overshoe is out…



As the waiter shuffled outside to smoke, the harbour wafted into the café on a salty breeze: the acrid aroma of seaweed, fish and diesel, the clanking of rigging on masts, the screech of a seagull, the distant thump of a motorboat. Then the door closed us off in our cool, isolated world.

I stirred my coffee and watched patterns swirl in the froth.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“We can be alone.”

I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine. She flinched.

“You asked to talk to me,” I said. “So why won’t you?”

Biting her lip, she looked furtively at the clock over the serving hatch. She didn’t have long. Teary, olive eyes reflected her inner turmoil. I almost felt sorry for her.

“Leave him or stay with him, I’ll support you.”

“I can’t do it,” she blurted. “He’ll kill me. He trusts me – this would destroy him.”

I squeezed her wrist. “You have to be strong. For everyone’s sake.”

She grimaced and pulled her hand away.

Another glance at the clock. Her angular features were elegant if not classically attractive. She caught me looking at her. Misreading my motives, she blushed and readjusted her headscarf.

We sat in silence. My teaspoon turned a hippo into a hare. She fiddled with the sugar bowl. I sipped my coffee; it was strong, pungent, gritty.

My patience expired first. “Nousha, say what you came here to say.”

She shook her head, a lock of auburn hair escaping confinement. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping on the floor. “Then we’re done. I have to get back to the airport.”

She grabbed my hand. Fear was in her eyes now. I was wrong: she was beautiful.

I said, “Dr Farahani, get a hold of yourself.” I stooped over her, our faces almost touching. “Finish your holiday. Go back to your laboratory. Help your boss build the centrifuges. He won’t know we’ve met: he’ll still trust you.”

“You knew?” She was incredulous.

“When he’s finally enriching uranium, contact me and we can talk properly.”

“You knew all along!”

“Don’t be naïve. What do you think I do at the embassy - process visas? I’m a researcher too - of sorts.”

The door burst open. Curtains billowed; napkins flew off tables. The waiter hurried towards the kitchen. A furtive look, a shake of the head. My stomach knotted.

“We have to go,” I said, shrugging on my coat. “Leave the back way. Rahim will show you.” Then I was moving outside into bright sunlight.

I collided with two men coming in. They wore fishermen’s clothes, yet their hands were smooth and uncalloused. I stalled them; blustering, belabouring my apology. It should have given her enough time. They barged past and the door slammed. There was nothing else I could do.

I turned up my collar and strode briskly along the quay towards my waiting driver.

I never saw her again.



PJ is a British writer who lives near Geneva in Switzerland with his wife and Parson Russell Terrier. As a scientist working for an international organization, he spends most of his time writing emails, reports and technical papers. However, he has always had a passion for creative writing and uses his evenings and weekends to break free from the constraints at work to let his mind and his prose wander unhindered wherever they want to go. PJ has had several short stories published, as well as non-fiction newspaper and magazine articles.


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