Grime Street: Filthy Crime

Wade Hackette lets the rain fall inside his black convertible as he lights a smoke. Lightning ignites a purple spider web above the rusted city, illuminating hollow towers of cement. Wade exhales a gray specter while raindrops fall off the edge of a brown brimmed hat. He parks the black convertible next to Jade Dragon—a

Woodbine

Story By Robert Emmet   Megan was an ugly girl. She knew this, because everyone told her so. Even her mother. “You’ve a crooked nose, a chin like a frog’s arse; no man will ever want to take you as a wife. But you have other talents. You do well in school; if you apply

Forever Hers

Story By Poet Rummager Her name was Cara, and she loved boys. Barely seventeen years old, she had already suffered the twinges of an abandoned heart. Her father left home when she was seven, and no other man could fill his shoes. There was a photo of him on the night stand; a crumpled reminder

In the Flesh

Story by Karina Pinella   A short stack of dried human skin trimmed into 8 ½” x 11” pages sat on the desk as Walter Penn pondered on his next flesh fiction. He considered the title, Flayed Minion, in memory of the owner who was formerly bound by the parchment on which he will now

A Million Bites

The man with the knife grins.  Serrated edges dangle above a crawling body while a bullfrog croaks on top of a dead tree stump. Laughter spews out of this man’s mouth. The body flails its fleshy fins like a fish ripped out of a pond…helpless…only so much time left… He snatches a handful of hair,

Pillow Talk

She impales a sapphire encrusted silver loop through her earlobe, and then glides red lipstick across puffy lips. Black stockings constrict a pair of pale legs while she perches on stilettos.   He’s already passed out. Half empty bottle on the nightstand…same infomercial that’s been on for the past hour…drool spills onto his shoulder, absorbing

You Can’t Drink It Away

He drank heavily.  Forget who you are and what you’ve done. Keep your eyes down and don’t look at it. His plan failed. The full moon mocked him as he stumbled outside; his head spinning and his claws scraping the ground. He growled at a pink elephant in the distance.   *A “pink elephant” is

Season of Death / Ashen Field Pestilence

    A twisting black ribbon glides through the air, its shape changing to the whim of countless pests. Darren wipes his mouth and evicts flies sipping from saliva. “…I don’t think so. Not this time.” He impales a shovel into the dirt—sweat drips onto the rusted spade while Darren heaves dry soil over his