|
The Doom That Came To Sarnath |
H.P. Lovecraft
|
Thus of the very ancient
city of Ib was nothing spared save the sea-green idol chiseled in
the likeness of Bokrug, the water lizard. This the young warrior
took back with them as a symbol of conquest over the old gods and
beings of Ib, and as a sign of leadership in Mnar. But on the night
after it was set up in the temple, a terrible thing must have
happened, for weird lights were seen over the lake, and in the
morning the people found the idol gone and the high-priest
Taran-Ish lying dead, as from some fear unspeakable. And before he
died, taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with
coarse shaky strokes the sign of DOOM. |
| Blazer |
D.H.Pradeep
|
The boy went back to his room. He was
reading his book aloud - well he had to because it was a Saturday
and the father was at home... and the father went to school when
very few in his village did and the father always stood first in
his class and the father always read his lessons aloud.. .because
till he reached his college he believed that it was the only way to
read... and when he first saw somebody reading without moving his
lips... he was amazed... maybe black magic... he thought... but not
for my kid. And of course for all this, his father had to walk ten
miles to his school, his father had to walk ten miles to his
school, barefoot. |
| Black
Cage Talking |
Brian W. Cooke
|
I barely had the time to
question how I'd come to be inside the barn, when those beasts
manifested all over again --just as I knew they would! And of
course, that's when I saw their wicked silhouettes, contrasted by
the moon shone through that barred windowpane. Their harrowing
cries ascended from the same pitch nothingness of lightness
corners, and echoed against the walls to rape my deepest senses all
over again; driving me mad!! |
| Cold |
Stavro Yianni
|
Chopsticks to the left, breadsticks to the
right. I needed none of these, as I already possessed my tools. I
gazed at the wax as it melted down the candle and formed a
shapeless mass in the cup of its silver holder. The glow of the
flame added a bit of warmth to the place, especially as it was
pouring down outside. |
| Going Home to Mother |
Rich Logsdon
|
"Think I'm outta gas,
boys," she said, still grinning. "Want to fill me up, huh?"
Gripping the barrel with her left hand, she brought forth the
weapon and, as she put the barrel against the window, gently put
her finger around the trigger. Squeeze, Dara, squeeze, a voice in
side of her said. It took the face at the window a while to
respond. |
| Miles From Home |
Rich Logsdon
|
It was a wonderful idea. Gun leveled at the
man's chest, she knew she could get away with it. Ready to squeeze
the trigger, she suddenly remembered a painting that she had seen
years ago: Hieronymus Bosch's The Temptation of St. Anthony. Even
at the time, tormented by destructive impulses, Sandra had been
moved by the depiction of the praying saint, surrounded by
grotesque figures representing demons with a medieval town burning
in the distance. |
| Threadbare |
Barb Hacker
|
"I wore this shirt when I
carried both you and your brother home from the hospital," the old
woman said. "Your brother and your father both hugged me when I was
wearing this shirt, as did you, when your hands were grubby with
mud pies. I wore it when I buried your brother and I put it on the
night your father died. I intend to keep wearing it." |
| DMZ |
R.H. Prestridge
|
I looked over at the vampyre, who raised
his glass of steamed blood and toasted me. "Salut," he said in a
voice as dry, harsh and cold as a root cellar on a late November's
morning. Mac set down a mug of chilled beer in front of me. I
handed him a bill, and he went off to make change. |
| How I
Became A Narcissist |
Sam Vaknin
|
I forced myself to
remember, threatened by the immanent presence of the Grim Reaper. I
fluctuated between shattering flashbacks and despair. I wrote
cathartic short fiction. I published it. I remember holding myself,
white knuckles clasping an aluminum sink, about to throw up as I am
flooded with images of violence between my parents, images that I
repressed to oblivion. I cried a lot, uncontrollably, convulsively,
gazing through tearful veils at the monochrome screen. |
| Sloshing Blood On The Floor And
Wiping It Up With The Heads Of the Innocent |
Philip Overby
|
Billie returned Oliver's kissing for a
minute then pushed his tongue up to the roof of her mouth and bit
down through his lip, through the skin and sending her teeth out
through the other side, sending blood streaming down Oliver's chin
and all over his neck and chest. |
