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Deep in The Hearth of Hell

Farah Rose Smith·August 20, 2021

Deep in The Hearth of Hell written by: Farah Rose Smith @farahrosesmith Immortals on a slab, he...

Poetry English

·1 min read

Float

R.E Hengsterman·May 28, 2019

Float written by: R.E Hengsterman @robhengsterman With a flick of his fingernail, he decapitates the honeybee, pinching its...

Fearful Moments of Tranquility

George Gad Economou·May 10, 2019

Fearful Moments of Tranquility written by: George Gad Economou calm before the storm, as drinks are poured,...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Circling The Drain (CTD)

Saira Viola·September 6, 2018

Circling The Drain (CTD) written by: Saira Viola @sairaviola The glitzy eye of the capital dimmed by...

Literature English

·10 mins read

Vicio

Jose A Gomez·June 21, 2018

Vicio written by: José A Gómez Como explicar esta compulsión que atrae y me lleva a ese...

Jose A Gomez Spanish Poetry

·1 min read

Sweet Whispers Of The Night

George Gad Economou·April 8, 2018

Sweet Whispers of the Night written by: George Gad Economou The strong scent of pot was the...

Literature English

·62 mins read

Sweet Vice

Amanda Eifert·February 8, 2017

Sweet Vice written by: Amanda Eifert @mandibelle16 Load my shoulders so I hold, The world I live,...

Poetry English

·1 min read

After a long career tinkering in telecommunications, Jim Bartlett switched to tinkering with writing fiction, both requiring a stretch of the imagination. In the course of putting his fingers to the keyboard, he's been fortunate to have quite a number of his stories featured both in print and online in several wonderful publications, including a story selected for "The Best of Fiction on the Web, 1996 – 2017" anthology. While mentally he strolls along a warm California beach with his wife and golden retriever (shhh, she doesn't know she's a dog), physically they reside on a special little island in the Pacific Northwest.

Reaper by Sharon Frame Gay

As an orphaned son of an orphan, I always see the glass as half empty. I picture the water murky and lukewarm, a waterline etched below the rim. Maybe with an ash or two floating at the bottom, because that’s what I do for a living. I deal with ashes. The remains of the deceased. No matter how those who pass away see their glass, meager or full, they eventually end up in a satchel carried on my shoulder.
My business card reads “Morton Stark Transport.” I’m called upon to disperse the ashes of the dearly departed and honor their final wishes. People hire me to escort the remains throughout the world ...

Features

This is Our Christmas

Ghost of a Christmas Past

The Spy Hiding in the Bougainvillea

Interviews

Spotlight On Writers – Miroslava Panayotova

Interview Q&A With Jim Bartlett

Spotlight On Writers – Darryl B

Ghost of a Christmas Past

This is Our Christmas

Christmas Baking

Ashtray

Cigarette Girl

Heroin & Whiskey

Repentino Despertar

Virtue or Vice

vice

Deep in The Hearth of Hell

Float

Fearful Moments of Tranquility

Circling The Drain (CTD)

Vicio

Sweet Whispers Of The Night

Sweet Vice

Broken Halo Blues

Cieder Muld and the Boy

The Mirror Did Not Come as Glass

The Leaves of Diablo

Ghost of a Christmas Past

The Spy Hiding in the Bougainvillea

Christmas Time

This is Our Christmas

Criss-Cross Christmas

Last Christmas on Moravian Lane

An Old Man’s Christmas Eve

Maurice Chips AKA Father Christmas