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Eloise Earle Sat Next To Me

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Eloise Earle Sat Next To Me By Thomas M. McDade (594-Words) The first theme Eloise Earle’s read was about a rodeo bull rider. She squeezed in Faulkner’s use of the doppelganger. There were twins in Faulkner’s fire story. She had the gall to name the rider after a character in the tale. After she finished reciting, she announced Brahma riding life was for her. I wondered if Miss Horan made a written comment about rodeo animal abuse under the mark. I thought the always-present peace symbol pin suggested she had many axes to grind and it seemed out of sync with the big rock on her finger. Eloise oozed confidence. I imagined bruises from spills that I wouldn’t have minded soothing with healing lotions. My hazel eyes met her pale blues at her first unexpected “hello.” Her complexion was flawless. I thought she was too dainty to be bucking around on the backs of bulls. Her neck-length hair was auburn. Musk perfume trailed her. There was a genuine cowboy in the class named Craig who ...
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Tips on Writing

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Available on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/FLASH-FICTION-WRITING-TIPS-MASTERFUL/dp/1999408217/ref
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Two stories by Sagata Bhattacharjee

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1. The Eternal Whiner (100 words, published in Wilson's Tales, 2024) The Eternal Whiner “An eternal whiner, ever hear him talking good of anybody? When he kicks the bucket, there'll be no place for him even in Hell.” I blurted out to my sister. “He taught us that our eldest bro would spend 1% of his income on us. What about him? Did he ever contribute more than 300 rupees to the family funds? How much was his monthly income as an SBI Officer?” I blabbered on, furious. ############################## Looking at the peaceful face of my brother on the pyre, I realise now that the one speaking eternally ill of the world was not my brother! The end 2. The Cold-Blooded Murder! (100 words, published in Ink in Thirds, 2025) The same whitewashed, empty space! I didn't know what Fate had willed for us that Saturday afternoon!  Can the pungent smell of the room remove the painful memory? Aman’s excited like a kid as we drove up to here. He’s sitting on the sill with nothing bu...
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#worthingflash

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Thank you to all those who have written flash fiction for #worthingflash this year. I welcome any story which meets the only rule (maximum 1000 words). Any writer can also advertise their books, webpage or works which have been published elsewhere. There is no fee * hurrah * but alas no payment either! All the best Derek McMillan
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The Griffin of the Bridge

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The Griffin of the bridge likes The Heights, from where she can see her prey from a distance. She knows the way they will travel; there is only one track across the river. Just below The Heights. Just one way for her two-legged prey to get food into their den. Their den of wood and stones. She watches her prey a lot, and still, she can’t really understand them. She has learnt to watch, really closely, for the stragglers. A mistake might be fatal, as it had been for her mate. But no success in the hunt means no food for the hatchlings. There are only three of them left now. At first, when she and her mate had built their nest on The Heights hunting was easy. The prey would scatter and scream as the two of them struck from the skies together. Didn’t the prey know they could never hide while making that noise? And by splitting they were easier to take one by one. But hunting is getting much harder now. And the hatchlings are getting much hungrier. And this doesn’t feel lik...
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Vital Occupation

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Our river guides have gone on strike. Citizens who live well away from the river think they will not be affected, but are mistaken. Those near the river’s edge know the peril that comes of the river losing its way. The striking river guides hold their raucous rallies on the highest ground in town, by inference pointing out what their continued inattention could portend. The river patters and crackles along, content to abide by its last set of instructions. But wait until the next good rain. Then we will parse the river guides’ demands, admit we have overlooked their standing. Ken Poyner www.kpoyner.com, www.barkingmoosepress.com   At indie bookseller Sundial Books, https://sundialbooks.net/search?q=ken%20poyner.   Science Is Not Enough—speculative poetry Winter’s Last Apple—poetry, prose poetry, micro-fiction Stone the Monsters, or Dance – speculative poetry Lessons From Lingering Houses – speculative poetry Engaging Cattle – flash fiction The Revenge of the House Hur...
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Progress

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A sunny Saturday morning in September, 1960. Bert Platt, the World’s Best Dad (he has the cup from Woolies to prove it), is standing under a pawnshop’s three golden balls and peering through the grimy window at a ‘JOMMETRY SET’. Beside him is a Brylcreemed short back and sides in a new school uniform. Bert left school at fourteen and got a job in the Jacob’s Biscuit factory. He is very proud and a little in awe of his clever son Tommy, who has just started in the A class of The Collegiate, one of the best grammar schools in Liverpool, and is now doing things like Maths and Latin. Bert gazes at the stainless steel compass and dividers nestling in the (slightly dented) black case among unredeemed watches and wedding rings. Then he eyes the price tag beside it. He sucks his false teeth at the thought of all the pints and ciggies he’ll have to miss if he splashes out the nineteen shillings and eleven pence. But he wants his lad to make the most of the opportunities his own generatio...
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