Tag: short fiction

FICTION: Love, Anger, and Pity; or Fuck Everyone in the Entire History of Humanity by Douglas Rudoff

“We wish you a merry Christmas,” were the last words sung in the choral recital before the car crashed through the church’s doors, through the vestibule and into the sanctuary. It was an ’80s era Pontiac Firebird, bright red with the hood embellished with the black and gold graphic of a phoenix (known as the

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FICTION: Ulysses, King of Hearts by Steve Passey

I remember that in the bar where I met the most beautiful man this other fellow used to come in. He wore a tweed coat and always brought in a book. I think it was Ulysses by James Joyce. He was only in his twenties and he’d come in with his tweed coat and Ulysses

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FICTION: The Sullivan Story by Amelia Dickens

An internal lore exists within every family. Stories so often recalled and rehearsed that they seep down the generations, persisting long after any of its original characters have departed. They may fall in and out of favour, but they are of a cyclical nature and never stay down long. Frequently the more popular tales imbed

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FICTION: Phantom Limbs by Diane Knight

We sit by the log cabin Rosie and me. The smell of pine resin is strong and has a lingering heat. Its intensity catches me off guard; pungent like cat piss yet not unpleasant. Its familiarity spans the years and brings my past within touching distance. That was before the troubles began, before I hated

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FICTION: Messermeisters by Erma Odrach

A stranger appeared at 23 Bank Street and rang the bell. With his hair cropped short, sporting a pencil-thin moustache, in his left hand he carried a black leather case, as if of some importance. This is what happened. Two men answered the door, one taller than the other, one blonde, the other brunette. They

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FICTION: The Masque of the White Christmas by D. A. Schneider

We had decided to storm the castle. Well, it wasn’t a castle so much as the office of the company we worked for. A company who shall remain nameless for the purposes of this story to protect the not-so-innocent. “It’s like the Poe story, The Masque of the Red Death,” I was explaining to my

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HAM FREE PRESS: The Ham Issue 2

The Ham is an online and in-print journal attempting to showcase the best in short-fiction, poetry, art, and photography, by writers, artists and photographers that don’t yet have developed careers. The Ham  is based in Peckham, but the journal can be found in a number of independent bookshops, cafes, and pubs around the UK, or ordered

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FICTION: Scaffolding by Amy Shuckburgh

The woman on the stairs, who mustn’t give her real name for legal reasons, (but let’s call her Carla), is out of breath. She wears a fur coat with a snakeskin collar. Her hair has a glossy sheen to it, as does her skin, which costs more than it used to to maintain. Things accrue.

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Essay: The Golden Days of Bowdlerization by Peter Dabbene

On a recent viewing of the Back to the Future trilogy, I was struck by Marty McFly’s potty mouth. My kids are 8 and 9 years old, and rewatching the movies I saw as a child—E.T., Big, The Goonies, etc.—I’m not sure if I just forgot about the cursing, or if perhaps my memories of

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FICTION: Mundane Inanities by William Meyer

Jessica sat by the water and thought about how much she liked watching the coming night drip down the horizon. I use the past tense because Jessica died. Jessica is dead. Which is sad. Her life became a sad story. Whether or not her sad story is a beautiful story is up to you the

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