Stories from
June, 2011

They watched each other across the river, longing eyes avoiding the bridge they’d burned, neither one willing to build a boat.

Aduhi Chawngthu never quite fits in.

Ed got the poultry truck hijack case because of his success in the lobster pound thefts. This crime wasn’t as selfish, but it was more foul.

Mike Donoghue mostly lives in his head, but resides in Vancouver.

She pulls off her panties, stuffs them into the urn. She drops her uncle’s ashes and her panties into the sea. The nightmares persist.

Orest Talpash writes in Edmonton, Canada. His wife limits his rebuttals to 140 characters.

The man on the ground with the caved-in head looked familiar. Marc glanced at the baseball bat in his own hand and wondered what happened.

Sean J. Logan writes dark flash fiction and twisted poetry. You can find him at Bloody Nightmares or @seanjlogan.

Outside, the town was in total darkness. He heard sirens, and the wail of a child in extremis. He prayed, prayed for the sun to stay down.

Bob Carlton lives a life devoid of outward incident in Garland, Texas.

Fly rubbed its hands impatiently, for it had been given a human voice, but did not want to interrupt the eagerly raised hand.

Aaron Beyer writes from California.

“Yes. Well. Legends.” The lady lifted her crossbow. “It’s Robyn. Wood. And I work alone.”

Des Nnochiri is a freelance writer / screenwriter.

The guru climbs the next mountain to ask questions of his fellow guru. He hates it, but he deducts it as work–related educational expense.

Mark Budman writes flash fiction.

At twenty I married, at thirty I got rich, at forty I got friendly, at fifty I started wearing a wig and my wife stopped calling me a nazi.

Evert Asberg lives and works in Europe.

Private Coleman never talked to his brother after the resurrection. He’d given his last full measure. You don’t give that back.

Sean Vivier likes SF, in case you haven’t noticed.