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Latest Stories

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…
July 13, 2018
Mystery Stories Mockingbird

A Million Dollars

They say you come to know a person’s true personality when you are no longer beneficial in their life. But what about the people who never were, what if they were the ones who truly define you. The crowd. The people you see and ignore every day or the ones…
July 13, 2018
Science Fiction Stories Saul Greenblatt

A Search for Food and Water

The day they waited for came. The three explorers sat at a table around which were the project director, project managers and assistants. The project director stood. “You three are ready to venture into space to explore a planet that our scientists say is…
July 13, 2018
Crime Stories Thomas Schmidt

Callous Disregard

Myles O'Leary had always been competitive. He saw life as basically a challenge, a challenge that pitted him against the world. And Myles wanted to win. So when news came out that a business competitor, the Strand Corporation, was up for sale, Myles jumped at…
June 24, 2018
Romance Stories Chris Bedell

Better Offer

Admitting I decided to give online dating a try wasn’t something I’d blab about to my parents even if I was almost 29. And no, worrying about what my parents thought didn’t make me strange. My dad was the first person to complain about everything. Like when…
June 24, 2018
Flash Fiction Jim Harrington

Family Reunion

I’m going to a family reunion soon—kind of. You see, I’m dying. The doctor said six months. Right around my sixty-fifth birthday. Bad liver, just like my Pa. Same cause too. We’re both drunks, but I didn’t go around beating up on women and children. In the…
June 24, 2018
Fantasy Stories Stephen J. Matlock

Only A Mother's Love

When the Vreesek conquered Earth, they brought their gods. They don’t plunder our resources. They keep to themselves. After smashing every defense and cratering capitals, they planted their temple-embassies in a hundred cities. We “rule” ourselves under their…
June 24, 2018
Mystery Stories H.J.Garton

And No Birds Sing

You know those car journeys where you don’t realise until you pull on the handbrake that you’ve just driven for miles with your mind elsewhere the whole time? It was after the interview with Diane that I made one of those. In my apartment, I downed two shots…
June 24, 2018
Romance Stories John L. Yelavich

Hands of Steel, Not Today

This morning I had to go to the local hospital for some routine tests. I feel fine, but I guess my urologist wants to make sure that I am on the right path to wherever it is I’m going. My first scheduled test was an ultrasound. There were six of us in the…
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…



I believe I was stuck down here in the recesses of Leon’s subconscious because of the lack of oxygen we experienced at birth. I see and feel what Leon does, but I have no say or control over whatever he, or should I say, we do. Leon is not aware I am part of his psyche. My circumstance is somewhat comparable to that of a stroke victim or person in a coma, they can hear and feel everything around them, but they can’t respond and are totally helpless.

Leon and I tend to see things differently. Up is down, black is white, right is wrong; everything has always been backwards with us. This is why, to keep my sanity, I decided to call myself Noel.

It’s been a long and frustrating thirty years of never being able to relate to the outside world what I think and who I think weare or should be. There is a single process whereby Leon and I have acquired two distinct personal identities; it is how wewere singularly exposed to the norms, values, behavior, and social skills growing up, but the end result was we were socialized differently.   Unfortunately for me, my behavioral patterns have remained dormant and Leon’s have thrived. I am he, but he is not me.

Leon’s overall behavior, his educational, career and personal choices, have caused me considerable distress. For example, his interactions with people, mode of dress, and even the way and what he eats is indicative of a socially degraded, acutely primitive, and extremely brutal character. Leon has intentionally remained unacquainted with the world beyond his immediate orbit. In short, he is a troglodyte; hence so am I.

I’ve always been thankful for the fact that our parents defiantly disapprove of the course Leon has taken our life.  Their guidance, support and efforts over the years to properly bring us up to be a productive member of society has had a positive influence on me, but did little or nothing for Leon.  In times of complete exasperation with us, Dad has kiddingly asked Mom, “Are you sure Joey the Garbage Man is not Leon’s real father?”


I am captive labor and forced to continually participate in the life of this brutish, uncouth and dangerous sociopath. We get to work at approximately 9 PM at The Club Raquel.  This smoke filled and illegal drug supermarket is a magnet for all types of lowlifes.   As usual, I have no say, but the clothing selection is the uniform of the day for a beefy bouncer like us; black pants and a tightly fitting black tee-shirt accented by a gold chain. We are ready for a night of fight, ready to rumble, as weposition ourselves at the door.

I dread the redundant conversations that permeate every evening and drag into the wee hours of the morning. The usual talk commences with guys that are as sharp as a bowling ball, Vinnie, Rocco and Vito, the other bouncers. This initial banter usually pertains to the status of each individual’s conquest record with the female population that frequents The Club Raquel.

The sexual conquest discussion is usually followed by the detailed opinions on how various professional football coaches should deploy the titans of their teams. It is all quite tiresome, especially when punctuated with more meaningless talk about gyms, steroids and designer drugs.

The other major concern, I share with our parents as well is, our immediate and dangerous proximity to the outer fringes of organized crime. You’d think we were constantly under the biggest tree in town because of the shady atmosphere in which we circulate.

Between Joey Two Tone, the owner of The Club Raquel (he drives a variety of painted two tone vintage 1950’s cars) and Johnny White Boy the local drug and swag guy (a half original whose white cop father, impregnated his black mother); it’s not like we participate on the board the local ecumenical council.  I dread that it is almost impossible to continue not to engage in this web of moral and unlawful corruption.

Chuddy McVey and his partner Richie Santiago, known on the street and in the club as The Mick and The Spic enter via the front door. We know this means trouble as we pass along “the look” to the crew.  It would be easy to calculate the odds that a simple dissension will spill over into a physical confrontation within the hour.  So what else is new?

But the interracial team of wannabe wise guys just is there to deliver a message to Joey Two Tone regarding some business arrangement. They thank him for the free drinks and leave the club without incident. Now we should be relieved, but Leon is pissed that we missed a chance to fracture a skull, break an arm or bounce one of them off the sidewalk and into a dumpster.

Another long and boring night at The Club Raquel comes to an end.  We always park far away so no drunken asshole exiting his car scratches our beloved black Nissan Maxi. But before we can climb into our shiny ride with the tinted windows, the cold steel of a .22 caliber pistol meets the back of our head. An unrecognizable voice says, “Walk straight ahead and get behind the dumpster.”

Behind the dumpster there are two guys waiting for us.  One of them is the brother of some chick we banged last week in the bathroom of The Club Raquel.  I think her name was Tashinga. Leon’s always had a bad case of jungle fever and now we might have to pay for that.

The other dumpster dude was some short Asian guy.  The three of them start to beat the shit out of us.  It is 9am when we awake in the Emergency Room. The nurse says the cops want to talk to us. As usual we dummy up. Leon is already calculating revenge on his own.

This is my life, no, excuse me, this is our life.



I am a retired NYC police officer.


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