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Latest Stories

December 08, 2025
Flash Fiction Syed Hassan Askari

The Angel Who Never Returned

Aslam was taken to the city hospital after he fell off from the road down into the riverbed almost thirty feet below. All of his family members rushed to the river, but before they could reach, a pure gentle soul stopped his jeep, jumped into the water, and…
December 08, 2025
Science Fiction Stories Tom Kropp

New Nemesis

Grimly I faced the immense, sphere-shaped, steel sealed doorway of the multi-dimensional cyberspace portal, wondering what joker put the sign on it: "Abandon all hope to all ye who enter here." "I hate Mondays," I grunted, shrugging my shoulders to make the…
December 08, 2025
Fantasy Stories Tom Kropp

Temerity

Quinshale the sorcerer smiled at the Zergon tree that loomed over the forest clearing. Its trunk was broader than a dozen barrels, and its limbs reached high into the azure sky. Its foliage was a kaleidoscope of iridescent colors. Its limbs eerily arched…
December 08, 2025
Flash Fiction Abdul Basit

When Understanding Sat Between Us

People from Dera Ismail Khan often grow up with more than one language around them. My own childhood was full of soft sounds of Saraiki spoken in homes and bazaars. Our people wear shalwar kameez with pride, enjoy hot chai at any hour and are known for their…
December 08, 2025
Science Fiction Stories Tom Kropp

Adolo

Captain Adolo was a tall, terrifying, warrior woman. Her athletic figure was all solid, lean muscle, crisscrossed by battle scars. Her eyes were a pale blue set in an attractive face marred by scars, including a wicked one through her left eyebrow and cheek.…
December 08, 2025
Horror Stories Alizah Zaidi

The Case Of The Missing Time Capsule

When the letter arrived, postmarked from my old town, I almost didn’t open it. Fifteen years had passed since I last set foot in Ridgegrove, and that distance had softened memories I spent years trying to bury. But the moment I saw the school’s crest stamped…
December 08, 2025
Romance Stories Syed Zeeshan Raza Zaidi

The Chenab's Embrace

The river was the pulse of Gujrat, and for Sohni, its ceaseless murmur was the only constant companion to the fire that raged in her father's kiln. She was the daughter of a master potter, a creature born of river silt and ancient clay, her hands delicate yet…
December 08, 2025
Poetry Markus J

6 Days Of An Aussie Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, my aussie love gave to me a koala in a gum tree On the second day of Christmas, my aussie love gave to me Two swimming platypuses, and a koala in a gum tree On the third day of Christmas, my aussie love gave to me Three jumping…
December 04, 2025
Horror Stories Alizah Zaidi

The Apartment That Remembers

Elias Trent signed the lease for Apartment 4B on a damp Sunday morning in October—one of those mornings when the sky felt heavy with secrets. He had moved to Hawthorne City for a fresh start, a quieter life, and an escape from the noise of the world. The…
December 04, 2025
General Stories Ben Macnair

The Silent City

John awoke not with a jump, but with a profound, unsettling lack of noise. Usually, Tuesdays in his high-rise apartment were an orchestral assault: the insistent moan of the sanitation truck, the 7:05 a.m. argument between Mrs. Petrovich and her potted fig…
December 04, 2025
Crime Stories Ben Macnair

The Shoplifter

The city was a bruise, the sky a bruised purple at dawn, bleeding into a sickly yellow by noon. Sarah knew its various shades intimately, mostly from beneath the hoods of stolen jackets or the weak, flickering bulbs of forgotten alleyways. She was a ghost in…
December 04, 2025
General Stories Tom Kropp

Shannon's Date

Recently I testified at a murder trial. My big brown Quarter Horse named Buster snorted and stomped his hoof with clear protest at the prospect of moving farther into the forest patch. It was a cool September evening with the sun slipping over the horizon in…

That’s the Dude right there

See the dude in the trench?

Yeah, that one.  Long, tan trench coat. Black slacks; hard-soled dress shoes; black, too. My man is wearing a beret.

Every day he's on the block, not doing anything but smoking those nasty fruit-flavored cigars and talking to the street people. He’s always dressed like he's going to work, which I guess is appropriate -- that's his job now: hanging on the corner by the store.

He'd be a great snitch. All the people he hangs with are classic street people. But he also knows everyone and everything that's going on in the neighborhood. And if any stuff went down he'd be the guy to ask.

What strikes me is my man is never sloppy. He even comes back from the cleaners with a load of fresh shirts

"I'll wear the white one Monday, when I'm standing in front of the bodega...Tuesday's blue, for when I'm standing in front of the Chinese restaurant... The plaid one is for the Laundromat... Yellow for when I'm standing in front of the Somali convenience store.... And the pink button-down for casual Friday, when I'm standing in front of that Mexican joint that closed last year...”

He's also the dude who I staggered up to one night, drunk as – you know, and asked who he was. Now I can't remember his name for the life of me.

When I asked him who he was it was because I was interested in who he was.

Also I was really drunk.

Anyway, brother is hanging on to his dignity.

I get it too -- I just think it's interesting.

Fewer and fewer people like that.

There was another old dude I'd run into on the street every now and then; always dressed, even on the hottest day. Bright shirt, loud tie, but he was clean. People would try to crack on him for being dressed up with nowhere to go, but he never cared. All he'd say is that you've got to be sharp if you want to get the women. I never did see him with a woman, but i understand: it was about being who you want to be.

At the end of the day, they all come from the same place: wife dead, or never had one; kid gone, or never had any; all he’s got now is some nice threads, and stories – and he’s happily sharing both.

I don’t know if I should fear it or embrace that one day that old dude might be me.

The End

Joseph P. Williams Jr. and Jamie C. Ruff and just two old dudes who are old friends …

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