Why I don’t remember my Aunt Letty by E F Fluff

I was seven or eight when my parent told me I was adopted. It happened over dinner. “Yeah” Flippant, I was initially too worried whether there would be enough gravy for me to make my potato swamp. It wasn’t a big deal – I think I’d always known – like I’d always known I was…

Mittens and The Economist by E F Fluff

They told me he deserves what he had coming to him. That it was about time. That, he’d always been a bit of an asshole. It was a wonder it’d taken so long. They often say that.   An asshole? When we were young, when we were kids; he always hit to hurt. Always went…

The strange tale of the Disco Loris by EF Fluff

The strange tale of the Disco Loris I met him at a rave. Or, to be more exact, the after-rave of a rave. He was a blonde, whippet skinny, and a skater. He mumbled, and spoke in constant oscillation from normal to almost incomprehensible nasty comment peppered sub-frequencies, and on to furious infrasound muttering. He…

Five Poems by Giovanni Mangiante

The world as a rusty playground   It isn’t just the dishwashers or the laundry ladies, the janitors, or the warehouse workers. I’ve seen and met with lawyers that are as well huddling on their beds trying to get warm under thin dirty bed sheets with no money to pay the rent and with no…

The Muse by Sebnem E. Sanders

Sharma’s passion was writing, but she had to toil at a boring job. She devoted any free time to her work in progress, trying to adhere to her daily word count target of 1000. Always scribbling in her notebook, at lunch break and after dinner at home, she immersed herself in stories instead of going…

Noir Evenings on an Uneven Street by John Greiner

There’s nothing but noir evenings on this street where the pavement is uneven. Never try to build up the infrastructure with a bunch of scabs who have no romance for civilization n their bones. The gunman is on his way to the pawn shop to get the ticket redeemed on his art. I saw him…

Black is the Color by Liz Davinci

“Black is the Color” is a folk song that is said to originate in Scotland.  I have always loved this song and wanted to do my own version of it. One day it hit me that the version I would create of this lovely song would be nostalgic, a bit intense – to explore the…

The Last Buck Passed by John Greiner

The Last Buck Passed   On the day that his mother Passed the buck Onto him he decided That the best thing To do was to go out And put a bid In on Meyer Lansky’s Brown shoelaces Which he soon Acquired with minimal Controversy being That the prime Rival held only Too bits and…