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Divine Hangover by Rebecca Kemp, December 2003
Sekhmet awoke choking on red sand. Face down in the muddy reeds was no place for a goddess to be found. The scarab trying to push it's yummy ball of dung in her ear wasn't helping.
The Last Round Up by Dan Mills, June - August 2004
It started out like any other Friday night. After putting in twelve hours over at the feedlot, Denny Royal went home, ate a can of pork and beans, and took a shower. Then he put on a clean shirt and jeans and headed back out the door. He jumped into his 1972 Ford pickup and turned the ignition key. The old 302 V8 turned over twice and rumbled to life. Denny mashed the gas pedal to the floor and held it there for a full fifteen seconds. It sounded like a top-fuel funny car revving up for a three hundred mile an hour run. A pair of rusted exhaust pipes, secured with several strands of bailing wire, belched out generous amounts of blue-black smoke. After Denny let up on the gas, the engine was still winding out at around five thousand rpms. He had adjusted the carburetor up to keep the engine from dying when it was at an idle. Denny dropped the gearshift into drive and the pickup lurched forward like a thoroughbred out of the gate. The dented pickup, with its loose fender trim, rusted mag wheels, and ten-foot whip antenna; slung gravel into the bushes beside the doublewide Kentwood mobile home he called home. When the truck hit the highway, it laid thirty feet of rubber before the tires quite spinning.
Pest Control by Dan Mills, October 2004
At first they were rarely seen, appearing in the night as points of light on the horizon. They hung motionless in the sky for a few seconds before winking out.
The people who reported them were deemed mentally unstable by the general populace and ridiculed beyond reason by the media. The military of course claimed the sightings were either Mars or a telecommunication satellite in a decaying orbit. No one with any credibility took the sightings seriously.
A Helping Hand by Brian Wright, January 2005
Everybody is given one chance for real happiness, Colin thought bleakly, and his chance had come and gone.
He wondered where Sally was at that very moment, while he sat on the parapet of the fog-shrouded bridge in the cold English night.
The water looked inky and sluggish beneath his dangling feet. It seemed a long way down. He looked down at his freshly shined shoes. He had taken them off, placed his wallet in the left one, his glasses in his right. He didn't know why he had done that.
Saul and the Witch of Endor by Wesley Lambert, November 2005
It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. Hebrews 10:31
"Behold their many thousands," Saul said, looking down upon the Philistine camp from the heights of the Jezreel Valley. Torchlight cast his face in a pallid glow. Sweat beaded his brow, trickled down unshaven cheeks.
"Yes, lord," spoke Doeg, his armorbearer, from just behind the king.
Beauties' Club by Tala Bar, February 2006
"I want to tell you, Daddy, I can't take much more of it!," the girl complained in a very quiet but still determined voice. "You wanted to marry a new wife after Mother died, all right, but why should I suffer for it?" She was no longer a little girl but a maiden of sixteen, as beautiful as any could be. She had a pale, moonlike appearance with long, shiny straight blond hair, glowing transparent complexion and light blue eyes, and she had been called by her late mother Moonbeam.
"Suffer? Why, Cindi, what's the matter?"
Prophets of the Shadow, A Short story from the Chronicles of the Shadow by Darren Reid, February 2006
Had it not been for the light rain that had begun only a few moments before Alamin would have called the night more or less perfect. Even the light shower of rain coming down was not enough to altogether make the evening unpleasant, merely not perfect. Relaxing back on his haunches, in spite of the unpleasant turn the weather had taken, Alamin allowed his mind to drift over the nights preceding events. No, the haul had not been a particularly bad one tonight, and considering the problems they had had in the past; the all too recent past, it was better than he could have hoped. Absently Alamin began calculating the share to be split between himself and his two accomplices.
Grode is Dead by G David Schwartz, July 2006
Grode is dead. If I tell you how he died, you would say, "Ahhh, another day in the life of the big or medium size city." Ahhh, you would be right. But if I told you about the amazing last year of his life, you would either call him foolish or dedicated. If he was foolish, he is now enshrined in the dedication of those who love him. If once dedicated, he is now dead.
Apple by Tala Bar, July 2006
Once there was a great, wise queen who, since her husband's death, had ruled with a strong hand, installing peace and order.
The Queen had one daughter, the beautiful Princess Snowhite. Like the ancient heroine, the Princess's complexion was as clear and white as snow, her hair and eyes were raven black and her lips as red as blood. Snowhite had never known her father, who died when she was only three months old. Although the Queen had pointed to their newly-born, an only child, and asked him to stay hom to enjoy his daughter, the King had gone to fight in one of the many wars, which had been taking place on the borders of his kingdom throughout his life, leaving Snowhite fatherless. The Queen then made peace with all her neighbors, and dedicated her life to raising her daughter and managing the kingdom.
The Slaughterer by Paul Williams, October 2006
Mbau was sick on the night before she started work.
She didn't tell anyone. Her parents were asleep and the infant wasn 't going to betray her. By morning the green vomit would have soaked into the grass, leaving no trace.
Bent by Robert T. Tuohey, October 2006
One fine morning Joe Schom awoke to find his head stuffed up his ass.
At first, unsure of himself, curled up as he was like a pretzel, he rocked back and forth a bit. It took but a moment or two of this, however, to assure himself that it was true: his entire head, and neck, too, right down to the collar bones, was firmly planted up his bum.
Report on the Boy Who Killed Bozo by Robert T. Tuohey
Being a private detective in NYC, you get to see a lot of weird stuff. For example, there was that daffy, rich broad who had me investigate the theft of her diamond broach. It turned out that her pet monkey had pilfered it, and then hidden it up his furtive, furry bum. Then there was that guy who committed suicide in a Laundromat dryer, and rigged it to look like his ex-wife had off-ed him. Or take that poor sap that had me tail his wife on the assumption that the little lady was stepping out with the greengrocer next-door ~ Sorry, pal, no cigar, but your chickadee does have a thing for carrots.
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