Cabral

Immediately after he was stripped of his chevrons, Cabral ripped off his shirt, stepped out of his pants, turned, and ran. He hurdled the low stone wall, graceful as he could manage. Moments later, shot at but only nicked on the hip, he lay face down in the coop surrounded by surprised hens and their bolder cocks. He crawled, stopped, caught his breath, inhaled the scent of shavings and other leavings. Not far away he heard the bleating of the small disparate herd. “Why,” he later almost told his captors, “Why didn’t I seek the goats? That’s where I belong.”

From Guest Contributor Clyde Liffey

Continued Phallic Stage

Clifford consulted his companion Coleman before Clifford’s penis-extending surgery.

Clifford: I’ll be courteous to Doctor Coen. A Clip Magazine column confirms kindness cultivates better care.

Coleman: Christ you’re crazy!

Clifford: You conclude I should be cruel? Then Doc Coen might compress it! Conceivably I could court him with chocolates.

Coleman: Chocolates, come again? No I connoted you’re crazy for continuing this claptrap! Doesn’t Corrina care?

Clifford: Corrina isn’t cognizant. It’s my wedding gift, conjointly with a card.

Coleman: You didn’t consider recovery?

Clifford: It’s worth the cost of this bargain!

Coleman: I mean, can you consummate afterwards?

Clifford: Yes…thanks, Cialis!

From Guest Contributor Benjamin Rubenstein

Faster Than Light

When it was just science fiction, faster than light travel wasdepicted in terms of sight and sound. Stars would blur into radiallines, as layers of synthesised sound effects bombarded a 21st centurymovie audience.

Now that it's reality, it's the smell that dominates. The overpoweringreek of rotten sauerkraut mixed with fecal notes that sticks to youfor weeks.

Harold always dreads an assignment on a new planet, but when you workin galactic trade you go where the company sends you.

The hotel receptionist sniffs and wrinkles her button nose beforepolitely enquiring: "Have you travelled far?"

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement

Perception

The night sky was the underside of a felt baldachino; the tower an ornate column; and the church main an altar for some expected giant: bold and bright against the diffuse starlight.

She wasn’t sure about the floodlights now.

“You going in or what?” Frieda tended towards the curt. “I’m happy either way.”

“Um–”

“Night wedding because he looks better in the dark?”

“Mum!”

“That laneway he knocked you up in must have been pitch.”

“MUM!”

“Twice your bloody age.”

The eighteen-year-old eased out of the limo’s back seat, wondering if the weight she felt was really just the baby.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Blood In The Dirt

The man strolled to the saloon, thinking about what he had done and what he would do now. His family had been killed and thanks to him their murderers were dead too. Revenge had been his life from the time he was fourteen.

He pushed his way up to the bar. He ordered a whiskey and sipped it.

A drunk yelled at him to pull his gun; it didn't matter why to him.

He said, “Not here,” and he walked into the street.

The drunk followed.

“I’ll see you all soon,” the man muttered as his tears fell. “Now draw!”

From Guest Contributor Dylan Baker

Pull Tab – Lift Cover

"Hold corner tear along dotted line.” Pulling the seam cereal exploded everywhere. Darn, another bag with a large tear.

Reaching for the unopened milk carton the instructions read: “Push up.” Using both hands it still wouldn’t separate. I grabbed a steak knife loosening the space between. Milk spilled everywhere. Darn instructions. If it says “snip corner,” sauce spurts out. If it’s a spray nozzle, it pops off. If it’s a “tamper proof cap,” it never comes off.

Mm, maybe a bagel with cream cheese. How hard is it to “Pull tab – lift cover.” Never mind, I’m starving. Where’s that knife?From Guest Contributor Dana Sterner

Blaze Of Glory

In the gloom a solitary light illuminated the Führer’s portrait.

“Two minutes oxygen left.”

No one responded.

Cross-legged like the Buddha, Steiner seemed at peace, thinking of his wife and son. Even Müller was becalmed, resigned to an iron coffin at nineteen.

Captain Mayer had himself fired the torpedo that sank the British battleship.

Submerging, a destroyer had detected them, the depth charge fracturing the hull.

They were the only three to survive, closing the hatch of the control room.

Losing consciousness, Mayer looked from the Führer’s eyes to the light. Ah! The explosion of the torpedo finding its target!

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Ian is originally from South Wales. He studied English Literature at Oxford University many years ago. He lives in Taiwan with his family and is a high school teacher there. He has also been a freelance writer for over 14 years, writing articles for Taiwanese educational textbooks. He has had short stories published in various genres in Schlock! Webzine, Schlock! Bi-Monthly, Short-story.me, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, and in anthologies by Horrified Press and Rogue Planet Press. He is an Affiliate Member of the Horror Writers Association.

Monster

I can feel it approaching, getting closer with each passing second. I never know when it will arrive, but can sense whenever it’s near. I can hear the monster making its move. I run into the bedroom, and slam the door shut. Just in time to hear the front door creak. Footsteps creep close, attempting to be silent. Covering my eyes tight, I hope the monster will leave me be. The door pushes ajar, the overwhelming smell of the monster invading my senses.

The monster says, “Hello.”

I take a deep breath and uncover my eyes to face my mother-in-law.

From Guest Contributor Eliza Salisbury

I Cannot Agree

It's been a difficult trial.

The jury presents a guilty verdict.

I cannot agree with this jury. So, I tell them, “Members of the jury, in light of my 20 years of judicial experience, I find there is no evidence the defendant was near the crime scene, nor even knew the victim. Therefore, I declare the evidence insufficient to convict and hereby overturn the guilty verdict. Bailiff, release the prisoner.”

The courtroom is aghast.

I sit back down.

The judge says, “Well, Mr. Kaufman, now I'm sorry I asked if the defendant had anything to say. Bailiff, remove the prisoner.”

From Guest Contributor Kent V. Anderson

When Kent isn't writing stories, he is building robots.

Tool

“This is my weekend,” Hugh told the windscreen, almost colliding with the car in front. “Hold on.” He tuned out until he could give the Bluetooth his full attention. The car skidded to a stop on the gravelly lay-by.

“You can’t spare the time to drop him off? No problem, I’ll collect him.”

Glaring at traffic, he struggled to keep his response relatively civil.

“Your lover-boy gardener is intimidated by me?

He’s wattnow?

Right … gardener just long enough to plough you, eh?

Too bad, Cathal’s my son–

Bronagh?”

Hugh stared into space, eventually noticing an ironic sign.

WRONG WAY.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid