Don't use words too big for the subject. Don't say 'infinitely' when you mean 'very'; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite.
- C.S. Lewis
Carnage & Co.
Stephen finally found his severed tongue that day. Pickled by the summer wind, the crinkled mass of flesh was nailed to the door behind the shed where his twin sisters once vied to kill each other. During his mad dash towards the door, he almost stumbled while trying to retrieve his tongue and to put it back inside his mouth before his mother would wake up and rip it off again.
His tongue attached unceremoniously to its natural place in his mouth. To Stephen’s amusement, the pink flesh quivered inside his mouth as if reminding him of how glad it was to be found by its owner.
He was whistling with contentment when he accidentally glanced at one badly lit side of the shed. There they were--his freshly cut blistered lips gaping at him like grisly, well-loved remains. He felt that his luck was starting to pile up on his side of the universe again.
The moment he put his lips back on, he heard his mother calling out to him from the house.
God, what does she want this time?
Please, Lord, not my eyes. Anything but my eyes. I won’t be able to find them again.
(first appeared in From the Asylum, Aug 2005) © Kristine Ong Muslim
Four stories for your enjoyment....
The train pulls in at Ashtead. The doors open. People step on and on hearing the men talking and sensing something else, some ancient instinct of self-preservation, move to the furthest end of the carriage. They are all domestic cats forced into the hiding by the presence of two underfed, bored tigers.
Foughts in my Head by Matthew Friday
He didn’t know what the words meant even as they slipped out of him. He didn’t know the name of the God he spoke them to. All Byron knew was the purpose of the ritual, just as he had known the purpose of the previous rituals, and that was all he needed to know. Most importantly, he knew it had to be perfect, which was why for the first time he felt the nervous twitch in his stomach.
Paying the Price by Philip Roberts
According to the new law, this would be murder; but murder shouldn’t be this easy. Murder should involve facing your victim and driving a knife through their heart, or sending a bullet through their head. It shouldn’t happen by pressing a key. So, no matter what the damn silicon-huggers said, this wasn’t murder.
An RI World by Stephen L. Thompson (flash fiction)
Rufus watched intently at the vent under the stove. A rustling of movement came from within the wall. After some consideration it sounded more like gnawing to Johnny. Like something was eating wood. Then it occurred to him that it sounded more like bone. 'One too many horror movies,' he told himself.
In the Walls by Mari Mitchell
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An interview with
Denis Sheehan