By MorningAJ
Dirk Blaise looked hard into the mirror to check the crow's feet around his eyes. "Time for another tuck, Dirk baby," he muttered, as he continued to brush dye onto the canescent patches around his temples. "Or they won't be casting you as the varlet much longer."
He smiled his youngest-looking grin, revealing his newly re-whitened teeth.
"You CAN still pass as the juvenile lead," he asseverated, at the face that grimaced back at him.
But his reflection looked unconvinced.
Copyright ©2012 MorningAJ. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce in any form, including electronic, without the author’s express permission.
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This story was originally published on the Jobbing Writer site on February 11, 2012.
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If you like this story, check out these other Morning AJ stories, published on this site: Disguise, Earwig, Helen's dilemma and Jetsam.
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AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
MorningAJ is a professional (science PR) writer/rebel who fends off the restrictions of her paid-for work by creating short stories, poems and microfiction in her spare time. She’s even managed a novel, thanks to NaNoWriMo, and is currently working on her second.
She also paints watercolours.
Badly.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Saturday, March 24, 2012
**One of my stories, Night of the Ziphoyds, was published on the Every Night Erotica site
One of my older horror-tinged and sexplicit science fiction stories, Night of the Ziphoyds, was published on the Every Night Erotica (ENE) site.
Ziphoyds shows what happens when terrifying aliens get to know their neighbors, some of them in an especially intimate way.
Check this story out!
Ziphoyds shows what happens when terrifying aliens get to know their neighbors, some of them in an especially intimate way.
Check this story out!
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
**Basil Rosa's Kozart's Albino Elephants was published on the Conjectural Figments site
Basil Rosa, whose He held on and she kept saying time to go graced the Microstory A Week site in October 2011, has had one of his newer stories (Kozart's Albino Elephants) published on the Conjectural Figments site (it starts on page 47).
Basil's edgy story, which details an ex-con junkie's struggles to get right with his life, is one of my favorite pieces I've read from him.
Check out this excellent story!
Basil's edgy story, which details an ex-con junkie's struggles to get right with his life, is one of my favorite pieces I've read from him.
Check out this excellent story!
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Simkins
By Anna
Simkins had been half-crazy for over a decade, aided and abetted by hallucinogens dished out with relish by his staff sergeant each morning with his breakfast ration.
Truth was the outpost had been beleaguered by problems since the very first ship had landed on its supposedly green and pleasant land in ’99. “Might be green – but certainly aint pleasant” Simkins had uttered sagely after the first insurgent uprising by ‘the natives.’
“We come in peace” Carlton had lied as he shook the the flabby moist little hand of the first Kerillion ever to see a human, all the time thinking of the rich mineral deposits in them there hills. Carlton was also thinking of sex – he hadn’t had the pleasure of a woman for nigh on two years – and the female Kerillion ugly as she was held possibilities.
Thing was, relationships with the natives had broken down pretty damn quickly – well men are men and have needs don’t they? Little did Carlton and his men know that the Kerillions were pretty mean combatants when protecting their womenfolk.
Over time the Kerillions had winnowed out the firstcomers, leaving only the true pioneers, the intellectuals, those who had never fired a gun and who quite frankly were wimps. Carlton had met his maker first.
So the wimps were left in a constant state of siege and leaderless needed one. Simkins staff sergeant was a natural, a closet demagogue who previously had only been held back in the ranks by his lowly birth. He inspired and controlled his men by festering hatred and feeding hallucinogens.
More than twenty years had seen their numbers continue to dwindle – five hundred men down to three – the Kerillions picking them of one by one entering the barracks by night and playing their mind games.
Simkins was crazier than ever as the hallucinogens were run out and the staff sergeant dead – his blood sucked clean out of him - and Simkins peed himself as the Kerillions surrounded his bunk…
Copyright ©2012 Anna. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce in any form, including electronic, without the author’s express permission.
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This story originally appeared on the puzzelicious plus site on February 16, 2012.
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If you like this story, check out Anna’s other stories, published on this site: Compulsion, Industry and Retribution.
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AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
I'm a mother, friend, nurse, wife and lover! I think I have always been 'creative' drawing, painting, writing stories and poetry from an early age. I am moronically happy as I don't see the point in being miserable and find life - 99% of the time - wonderful.
Simkins had been half-crazy for over a decade, aided and abetted by hallucinogens dished out with relish by his staff sergeant each morning with his breakfast ration.
Truth was the outpost had been beleaguered by problems since the very first ship had landed on its supposedly green and pleasant land in ’99. “Might be green – but certainly aint pleasant” Simkins had uttered sagely after the first insurgent uprising by ‘the natives.’
“We come in peace” Carlton had lied as he shook the the flabby moist little hand of the first Kerillion ever to see a human, all the time thinking of the rich mineral deposits in them there hills. Carlton was also thinking of sex – he hadn’t had the pleasure of a woman for nigh on two years – and the female Kerillion ugly as she was held possibilities.
Thing was, relationships with the natives had broken down pretty damn quickly – well men are men and have needs don’t they? Little did Carlton and his men know that the Kerillions were pretty mean combatants when protecting their womenfolk.
Over time the Kerillions had winnowed out the firstcomers, leaving only the true pioneers, the intellectuals, those who had never fired a gun and who quite frankly were wimps. Carlton had met his maker first.
So the wimps were left in a constant state of siege and leaderless needed one. Simkins staff sergeant was a natural, a closet demagogue who previously had only been held back in the ranks by his lowly birth. He inspired and controlled his men by festering hatred and feeding hallucinogens.
More than twenty years had seen their numbers continue to dwindle – five hundred men down to three – the Kerillions picking them of one by one entering the barracks by night and playing their mind games.
Simkins was crazier than ever as the hallucinogens were run out and the staff sergeant dead – his blood sucked clean out of him - and Simkins peed himself as the Kerillions surrounded his bunk…
Copyright ©2012 Anna. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce in any form, including electronic, without the author’s express permission.
#
This story originally appeared on the puzzelicious plus site on February 16, 2012.
#
If you like this story, check out Anna’s other stories, published on this site: Compulsion, Industry and Retribution.
#
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
I'm a mother, friend, nurse, wife and lover! I think I have always been 'creative' drawing, painting, writing stories and poetry from an early age. I am moronically happy as I don't see the point in being miserable and find life - 99% of the time - wonderful.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
**One of my microstories, Paradise, was republished on the Leodegraunce site
One of my mainstream neo-noir microstories, Paradise, was republished on the Leodegraunce site. It will appear on the site March 13 - 18, 2012.
This story was originally published on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website in November 2009.
It was republished in my 2010 anthology, Charge of the scarlet b-sides: microsex stories and poems. (It's also available as an e-book).
Check this story out!
This story was originally published on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website in November 2009.
It was republished in my 2010 anthology, Charge of the scarlet b-sides: microsex stories and poems. (It's also available as an e-book).
Check this story out!
Monday, March 12, 2012
**Basil Rosa's Rowing the Beach to Shore was published on the Blue Lake Review site
Basil Rosa, whose He held on and she kept saying time to go graced the Microstory A Week site in October 2011, has had one of his newer stories (Rowing the Beach to Shore) published on the Blue Lake Review site.
Basil's story, which charts the could-go-in-any-direction bickering of a car-trapped couple, is immediately immersive and rings real-life veracious, with its relatable/type-recognizable characters and multi-layered dialogue.
Check out this excellent story!
Basil's story, which charts the could-go-in-any-direction bickering of a car-trapped couple, is immediately immersive and rings real-life veracious, with its relatable/type-recognizable characters and multi-layered dialogue.
Check out this excellent story!
**One of my stories, Vladagascar nights: Vince and Madge, was published on the Every Night Erotica site
One of my for-mature-audiences vampire/sex-intense stories, Vladagascar nights: Vince and Madge, was published on the Every Night Erotica (ENE) site.
Vince and Madge is a loosely-linked sequel to Night burn, also published on ENE in September 2011, where a Stephenie Meyer-type writer encounters a vampire who takes exception to her fictionalized version of vampiredom.
Expect one more Vladagascar nights story before summer’s end, one that will wrap up the first story arc in my fanged-and-undead series; this upcoming (and final) Vladagascar nights story looks to be more plot oriented than Vince and Madge.
In the meantime, check out Vince and Madge!
Vince and Madge is a loosely-linked sequel to Night burn, also published on ENE in September 2011, where a Stephenie Meyer-type writer encounters a vampire who takes exception to her fictionalized version of vampiredom.
Expect one more Vladagascar nights story before summer’s end, one that will wrap up the first story arc in my fanged-and-undead series; this upcoming (and final) Vladagascar nights story looks to be more plot oriented than Vince and Madge.
In the meantime, check out Vince and Madge!
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Hit and run
By Kate Alexander-Kirk
The body lay before her, rigid and lacking any trace of life or personality. Zoë’s most morbid fantasies could never have prepared her for her first encounter with a dead human being. She felt glued to the spot as if she had, in some childish dare, stuck her tongue out on a frozen pole. Terror and panic gurgled in the pit of her stomach as hysteria threatened to engulf her. A fellow pedestrian finally “unstuck” her, guided her to the safety of the pavement, away from the growing crowd. The person tried to comfort her in a quiet, calming fashion, but the words were mere gibberish. Somehow, Zoë managed to tell the person where she lived and who should be contacted to come and retrieve her.
At school the next day all her friends wanted to talk about was the accident that she had witnessed.
“What was it like?” Casey demanded.
“Did you get a good look at the body?” Craig said as he licked his lips.
“Was there a crowd? Was anyone sick? Was the pavement all covered in blood and guts and spew and shit?” Mark grinned, his eyes wide, desperate.
Zoë cringed as she listened to their lurid questions in the playground. Somehow this brush with death lifted her above her peers. She closed her eyes to escape the sight of them but her mind was filled with the image of the young woman sprawled across the road, limbs twisted and tangled like a rag-doll that a child had discarded without care or grace. The left leg was flung at a right angle to the right and the left arm was wrenched by the impact of the vehicle, straight from its socket so that it lay broken and deformed - useless. Zoë’s mind was scarred with the gruesome distortion of the young woman’s features. The blood smeared across what may once have been a beautiful face. The nose smashed beyond repair and the jaw knocked out of line with the rest of her profile. Zoë shuddered at the memory that was now etched in vivid detail.
Her friends’ questions replayed in her mind, even weeks later. She couldn’t understand the cruel, impersonal, voyeuristic nature of their gruesome curiosity. They referred to the victim as “it”.
Zoë grew more distant from them as they had refused to acknowledge that this victim was a real person with relationships that were now shattered. She soon found that she could block out the echo of their thoughtless, unkind jibes. But she could never quite escape the screeching of brakes and the faint odour of rubber from the friction of tyres on asphalt as the driver made their desperate and despicable escape. The crowd of people gawping; astonished and appalled, before the harshest memory of all: the crushing of bones, fragile as egg shells being trampled underfoot.
Copyright ©2012 Kate Alexander-Kirk. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce in any form, including electronic, without the author’s express permission.
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AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Kate Alexander-Kirk drinks copious amounts of tea as she dreams up weird and wonderful stories that she one day hopes to realise. And she does it all donning her Top Hat at a jaunty angle. Her work has appeared previously in Long Story Short, amphibi.us, Postcard Shorts and is soon to be published in Pure Slush, Negative Suck and Winamop.
The body lay before her, rigid and lacking any trace of life or personality. Zoë’s most morbid fantasies could never have prepared her for her first encounter with a dead human being. She felt glued to the spot as if she had, in some childish dare, stuck her tongue out on a frozen pole. Terror and panic gurgled in the pit of her stomach as hysteria threatened to engulf her. A fellow pedestrian finally “unstuck” her, guided her to the safety of the pavement, away from the growing crowd. The person tried to comfort her in a quiet, calming fashion, but the words were mere gibberish. Somehow, Zoë managed to tell the person where she lived and who should be contacted to come and retrieve her.
At school the next day all her friends wanted to talk about was the accident that she had witnessed.
“What was it like?” Casey demanded.
“Did you get a good look at the body?” Craig said as he licked his lips.
“Was there a crowd? Was anyone sick? Was the pavement all covered in blood and guts and spew and shit?” Mark grinned, his eyes wide, desperate.
Zoë cringed as she listened to their lurid questions in the playground. Somehow this brush with death lifted her above her peers. She closed her eyes to escape the sight of them but her mind was filled with the image of the young woman sprawled across the road, limbs twisted and tangled like a rag-doll that a child had discarded without care or grace. The left leg was flung at a right angle to the right and the left arm was wrenched by the impact of the vehicle, straight from its socket so that it lay broken and deformed - useless. Zoë’s mind was scarred with the gruesome distortion of the young woman’s features. The blood smeared across what may once have been a beautiful face. The nose smashed beyond repair and the jaw knocked out of line with the rest of her profile. Zoë shuddered at the memory that was now etched in vivid detail.
Her friends’ questions replayed in her mind, even weeks later. She couldn’t understand the cruel, impersonal, voyeuristic nature of their gruesome curiosity. They referred to the victim as “it”.
Zoë grew more distant from them as they had refused to acknowledge that this victim was a real person with relationships that were now shattered. She soon found that she could block out the echo of their thoughtless, unkind jibes. But she could never quite escape the screeching of brakes and the faint odour of rubber from the friction of tyres on asphalt as the driver made their desperate and despicable escape. The crowd of people gawping; astonished and appalled, before the harshest memory of all: the crushing of bones, fragile as egg shells being trampled underfoot.
Copyright ©2012 Kate Alexander-Kirk. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce in any form, including electronic, without the author’s express permission.
#
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Kate Alexander-Kirk drinks copious amounts of tea as she dreams up weird and wonderful stories that she one day hopes to realise. And she does it all donning her Top Hat at a jaunty angle. Her work has appeared previously in Long Story Short, amphibi.us, Postcard Shorts and is soon to be published in Pure Slush, Negative Suck and Winamop.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
**One of my stories, Frostbite the ice pimp, was published on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website
Horror/sex/violence readers: one of my longer, for-mature-audiences stories, Frostbite the ice pimp, will be published on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association site until March 30, 2012.
While this blaxploitation-meets-a-violent-holiday-TV-special tale has brief, explicit sex and brutal action elements, it’s more of a "hard" R-rated read, with lots of well-developed characters.
This 6,657-word story, credited to the fictional Chuck Lovepoe, sports influences from Robert Beck (aka Iceberg Slim), Romeo Muller (who created Frosty the Snowman and other TV specials) and Robert Devereaux.
Check it out!
While this blaxploitation-meets-a-violent-holiday-TV-special tale has brief, explicit sex and brutal action elements, it’s more of a "hard" R-rated read, with lots of well-developed characters.
This 6,657-word story, credited to the fictional Chuck Lovepoe, sports influences from Robert Beck (aka Iceberg Slim), Romeo Muller (who created Frosty the Snowman and other TV specials) and Robert Devereaux.
Check it out!
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