Short stories

by Neil Harris "Men are always wicked at bottom unless they are made good by some compulsion." Niccolo Machiavelli It is night time and I am in the middle of a field in the North Bucks countryside. My heaving breath comes out like plumes of smoke in the cold and I squint into the darkness. My gang spots a group of shadowy figures hugging the hedgerow and we spring into action, chasing and screaming them into a corner. In the pitch black someone is pinned to the wet ground and

by Peter Newall Why the silverfish had to eat the only photograph I had of Bella I didn’t know. When I considered all the books and papers stuffed into shelves and cupboards throughout this old house, most of which don’t matter at all, it seemed grossly unfair that they had chosen this particular photograph. It was a head and shoulders shot of Bella. She was posing rather archly with a camellia tucked behind one ear, looking up at the camera with her thick blonde hair sprea

by Maekawa Kirin You know… Grandpa Nathe was quite the tease. I can still recall those episodes vividly, in the same way this green tea paints itself in my mind from its lingering taste. Mostly bitter, but one I can stand behind. The peak of my frustrations toward him occurred at my graduation in the late spring of 2005. That day, the rain poured buckets, yet it was merely a gentle murmur compared to the thunder that erupted when Grandpa Nathe accompanied me on stage. I mean,

by Hira Amir It all started the day when a team of doctors, wearing masks and lab coats, from the Institute of Animal Health came to their part of the village to announce the development of the new vaccine that fights various cattle diseases. All the village cows were to be injected immediately, the senior doctor said, no emotion behind his eyes; it is a government order. They had prepared in advance for the collective rebellion from the villagers. “We’re not letting these go

by Christopher Dabrowski Boar Albert ate and read The Squeak Times. -Loretta -he grunted animatedly. -Did you know that Earth's inhabitants eat pigs? -Oh -quipped his wife. -Barbarians! Albert adjusted the bathrobe belt and went back to reading. Yet he couldn't concentrate. Too much anxiety cost him what he read. -I will avenge them! I will eat a human! I'll buy one from the greyhounds -he decided. -They sell humans? -asked Loretta. -Yeah, th

by Gary Welsh She was an Aquarius; he didn’t give a shit about astrology. He told her there were no stars in the sky the night he was born, and hence no constellation to stereotype him with. He didn’t believe there were only twelve types of people in the world, so she read her horoscope out loud to him from the morning paper. She was convinced it would come true. He told her that back when he was an intern journalist, he spent a week working at the lifestyle section of the lo

by Virginia Elizabeth Hayes Eleanor looked out the crooked bedroom window wondering about the law of averages. Nineteen days ago, she rented a house that was really a collection of added-on rooms, that passed for a structure, out in rural Alaska. She hadn’t traveled here for the architecture. No. the house was conveniently positioned under the zone in the sky called: the Aurora Oval. This was the part of the world that enjoyed more visitations from the Northern Lights, on ave

by Malkeet Kaur It takes off from the runway, a thundering metal bird let loose into the twinkling night sky, its landing gear crunching before folding in. Inside the long, seemingly secure tube, hundreds of souls prepare to cross distant lands and oceans. Some are simply answering the call of home. Its nose climbs higher and higher, slicing through air and wind until it becomes a speck of flickering light to the awe-struck denizens below. Inside the cockpit, the twinkling pa