My short story Baikonur Bitch has been picked up by a Texas Publication; Rural Fiction Magazine RURAL FICTION MAGAZINE Exploring the beauty and drama of rural life It will be published 10.00am on Friday the 16th.
The last Vampire, a story I wrote in 2016 has been picked up for publication by an E-Magazine in the USA. It will be published on December 2 at 10:00 a.m. US central time.
The 7th of October brought the unwelcome return of an old friend!
A tale from the South Pacific
For someone so well educated and qualified, it would be perfectly reasonable to ask, why would anyone want to design a perspex abdomen? What problem would it solve?
Ang and Jack - Part Two “Oh, I’m not really hungry; I’ll just grab some meat, play around with that, maybe pull up some ice cream from the freezer.”
Ang sighed. “Looks like ‘The Supremacy’, stuffed up again. This policy was supposed to make people behave and be nicer to each other. It was supposed to eliminate the assholes, make more space, and food plentiful. Instead, the assholes don’t register. What a complete stuff up!”
“Some want bells & whistles; some just a cardboard casket. Some send their loved ones off in a golden shroud & a flash car; others, well, they can’t get rid quick enough, no-frills, nothing fancy. A sheet, a hole in the ground, or a can of gas, & a match!
Return of the Water Deer is the sequel to The cry of the Kuaka and the second instalment of the Iju Trilogy. It continues Kang Dae's story, who is now trapped in North Korea, with dark forces from the North and South doing their best to keep him there.
Buffalos are stupid and stubborn, only good for hard work and keeping the grass down. No good will ever come from buffalo’s and ice cream.
5.0 out of 5 stars Well worth reading Reviewed in the United Kingdom on April 12, 2015 A long tangled weave of a story bringing together different cultures but with the important thread, belief in where you have come from. A remarkable first book reminiscent of Amy Tan and her family sagas
Despite some priests and parishioners living with gluten intolerances or Coeliacs disease, the Catholic Church still do not provide gluten-free hosts. They offer a low gluten alternative.
A 100-word story about choice
Baikonur Bitch 2022 Edition has now launched - new and improved!
"The box in the very middle," the man pointed. "You see it? The one with the red and yellow stripes. That box contains nightmares. I bought them about ten years ago. Never sold one, not a single nightmare, so I put them back in here five years ago. Now I need the space, so I want to get rid of them."
Some children never grow up!
Hitchhikers beware! You just never know!
A pill to halve your age! Would you take it?
Feeling low in energy? Don't worry - earth always gives such poor returns!
A tale of seduction and evil in the Philippines.
Discovery and disability - the terms aren't mutually exclusive!
Unafraid, I welcomed him. With a subtle cold breeze blowing, I beckoned him closer, sympathetically throwing golden leaves before him, laying a soft autumnal path. As usual, there were no birds to frighten into the skies. Superstitious and afraid; they had not rested, roosted, nor nested anywhere near me for many years. Wary, fear of guilt by association, they stayed away.
Part three of the amazing adventures of the blogger spheres most eclectic partnership
Can our favourite crime stoppers produce the goods to save the missing produce?
I fell in love with Rita just writing about her!
“No, you definitely can’t see the Big Dipper from Dunsandle, but you can see the Southern Cross alright!”
She didn’t acknowledge me, but I knew she’d heard and understood.
I looked down at her again.
“You really are a cutie,” I cooed.
Still no response; her fuscous eyes staring, fixating on the galaxies high above, pure amazement on her face.
I’d only just met her.
I’d just popped out of the Hall to smoke a durry and take a piss. I’d walked around the side of the old wooden building towards the domain behind, peering into the windows as I went by. I’d briefly watched Athol Simmons in the Hall Office, trying his hardest to familiarise himself with Glenys Hollis’s topography. While Athol struggled to unhinge Glenys’s bra, the Kirwee Cooees played their interpretation of Lonnie Donegan’s “Cumberland Gap”. It seemed way too appropriate.
I kept walking, nearly tripping over…
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You came here seeking counsel, you feebleminded young man, do not throw this in my face. I have had Aswangs in my own church! They are clever; they accompany their husbands to Mass, only to dodge, duck, and weave the blessings I throw their way. I have seen it with my own eyes. Aswangs are also exhibitionists; they are vile and lewd. Did she expose herself to you? Did you see her naked flesh?”
Come gentle night!
“The battle between light and dark, good and evil is as old as death itself.”
Ramiro smiled, “Surely you mean life; for, without life, there can be no death.”
The old exorcist chuckled. “You are mistaken, young man; but it goes with your age! Death walks with and then stalks us all; and it is possible to be both alive and dead, or should I say, dead and alive.”
“This is the wisdom I seek, Monsignor, the reason I have come to see you. As an exorcist, you tread the fine line between the living and the dead, the saved and the damned.”
“Then tell me, my son, how can I help you?”
“Forgive me, Monsignor, I think I have fallen in love with an Aswang.”
“This cannot be so Ramiro, you come from a long line of mortals…
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“You killed my son,” the man screamed. “You killed my son!”
Uncle Gregory (aka The suicide tree)
He had come to cut me down.
I watched him approach. Weighed down by more than the chain saw he shouldered, his force evaporated space in front of him. Yet, I could see gravity taking its toll, grinding him closer to the ground, the sky pressing, squeezing, flattening him.
I saw tears in his eyes, anger in his cheeks. Early morning vapour exploded from his lungs, flumes of expelled air as vigorous as dragons’ breath, as powerful as a training horse. This man was on a mission, and I knew what it was.
He had come to cut me down.
Unafraid, I welcomed him. With a subtle cold breeze blowing, I beckoned him closer, sympathetically throwing golden leaves before him, laying a soft autumnal path. As usual, there were no birds to frighten into the skies. Superstitious and afraid; they had not rested, roosted…
View original post 4,831 more words