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Latest Stories

September 10, 2025
Horror Stories Brittany Anne Szekely

The Taste Of Long Pig

The wardrobe was small, but it smelled like cedar and old coats, and that made it okay. Mum had lined the bottom with a blanket and tucked my stuffed bear beside me. She called it quiet time, and sometimes it lasted until the moon came out. “ Be good, my…
September 10, 2025
General Stories Matias Travieso-Diaz

The Red Oak

An oak tree is an oak tree. That is all it has to do.If an oak tree is less than an oak tree, then we are all in trouble.Nhat Hanh A majestic red oak (Quercus rubra) stood alone atop a hillock. It was almost a hundred feet tall and had a trunk four feet in…
September 10, 2025
Flash Fiction Brittany Anne Szekely

Some Women Are Made Of Neon Bones

The house had been abandoned for years, but it stood like it remembered being loved. The walls were cracked, its windows shattered, and the front porch sagged like it had been holding its breath too long, but beneath the decay something pulsed, like neon…
September 10, 2025
Poetry Markus J

Lone Is The Boy

the peasants shed their tears alone, while the kings and queens sit upon their judging thrones . come down and take the child by the hand show him the way. for time has come where the light upon his path, is starting to turn dark. put away your mind's…
August 28, 2025
General Stories Eric Haggen and Absalom

Knight Of Honor

Blake Wright rode his horse London through the farm country southwest of Belgrade Serbia. Blake was wearing his armor without a helmet. Blake heard dogs barking. Blake pulled back on the reins and said "Stop." London stopped. The dogs continued to bark. Blake…
August 28, 2025
Romance Stories P.D. Ravel

Walls Of Love

Her My walls are the pillars of my existence and of my survival. But for you they seem like obstacles that have to be overcome. You keep ignoring the fact that I have built wall after wall after wall hiding away from suffering. Trying to conceal my heart. But…
August 28, 2025
Poetry Markus J

Today's Sad Sonnet

I don't believe in organized religion but i do believe in a supreme being and his opposite-destroying with a mind invasion wrapped up as compassion-his evil doing once there was a thing called tolerance where people could freely express different opinions now…
August 28, 2025
General Stories Matias Travieso-Diaz

The Carousel of the Blind

I could no longer cast from my soul the conviction, each time stronger and better supported,that the blind controlled the world: through the nightmares and the hallucinations,the plagues and the witches, the soothsayers and the birds, the snakes and, in…
August 28, 2025
Horror Stories Jackson Strauss

The Walk Home

It was the most beautiful day ever. The sun shone through cold and crisp air, and there was barely a cloud in the sky. Jack had finished all his schoolwork, household tasks, and martial arts training for the week and was ready to walk to the local cinema to…
August 28, 2025
Romance Stories Nelly Shulman

The Homecoming

“Is it customary now to send an invitation for every tiny and insignificant event in one’s life?” Harriet waved a cream-colored card, taken out of the company-logoed envelope. “And on paper, no less,” she added scathingly. “Green business, kiss my ass. Never…
August 28, 2025
Flash Fiction Jim Harrington

One Of A Kind

One of a Kind “Don’t run on the sidewalk, Nathan. You’ll fall and hurt yourself. Remember the last time?” “Dad said it was okay, because I’m four and I heal quickly.” He turned a sad face to his mom. “Unlike Auntie Karen.” Alice felt her knees buckle and…
August 28, 2025
General Stories Fred Gielow

A Talk With God

God: “Jonathan Earl Benson!” Benson: “Who said that? Who’s there? I don’t see anyone.” God: “Mr. Benson, it is I, the Almighty.” Benson: “Oh, my god!” God: “That is correct.” Benson: “But, I can’t see you. Where are you?” God: “I am all about, Mr. Benson. Do…

They lived together in a rustic looking A-Frame house down the road off the lake. There were three of them, Nancy, Cathy and Mike, all in their early sixties. They were very pleasant, even though townsfolk could tell they were from New York City; all three pretty much kept to themselves and seemed very happy and content with each other living the semi-rural lifestyle here in New England.

Nancy was a trim and fit blonde who looked dynamite in stylish but simple standard corduroy pants and sweater combinations under her tailored navy jacket. The cold, biting New England wind made her complexion even lovelier, complementing her nearly perfect smile.

Nancy loved to shop in the local markets; one could tell she was quite the gourmet cook. She could also be seen painting landscapes during our beautifully colorful autumn seasons. In addition, Nancy sang American Standards at our local coffee house. Her lovely voice blending her ageless sexuality and those timeless lyrical standards of the greatest generation made for quite enjoyable entertainment.

Cathy had an infectious laugh and a great smile. She was petite and slender, with ear length dark hair that was always set in a early 1960’s style out of Mad Men. Cathy looked like her denim jeans were painted on her perfect legs, her tops nicely fit and without a bra her tiny breasts still kept their upward perk.

Cathy also loved to cook and shop along with Nancy.  She loved to clean. The A Frame was always tidy and spotless. Nancy and Cathy were best friends for over forty years. Their friendship was eternal and transcended the physicality of their love. The two drew Mike into their physically and emotionally satisfying world back in New York City.

Cathy was the long distance runner of the three, loving those seemingly endless beautiful trails through tree packed forests along steep mountain terrain. Alternating between the complete silence of nature and classic rock music on her i phone during these runs, Cathy lived for the runner’s high.

Cathy loved to laugh and though not college educated like  Mike and Nancy, she was as sharp as they come. But at times, for affect, Cathy liked to scheme a good practical joke on her two lovers.

Mike was a six foot, blue eyed, retired New York City Police Officer with unkept salt and pepper hair. One could tell he kind of missed the hustle and bustle of being a cop in New York City, but was intrinsically drawn to our peaceful parcel of earth. He always had a smile and a wave for everyone in town.

Mike was not your average police officer. He had a prior career in education but went on to law enforcement instead of getting a Phd. in order to receive tenure in academia. But being a cop was what he was really meant to be. Mike’s sense of humor drove their friendship. He was funny and a true original.

He met Nancy when she ran a deli down on Broadway right off Houston Street in Greenwich Village. They became instant lovers and fast friends.  Nancy introduced Mike to her best friend Cathy and the three became an item. It took a while for Nancy and Cathy to find out what really made Mike tick, but they eventually did, and loved him even more.

Mike dabbled in writing and photography and loved to take long walks in the woods. He truly loves Nancy and Cathy and has finally obtained the contentment and peace that had evaded him since he returned from Viet Nam in 1969. He believes Nancy and Cathy’s place in his life is the answer to years of unidentifiable but gnawing uncertainty.

To Mike, Nancy and Cathy gave him creativity, independence, spontaneity, and most importantly, true love. Hence, he is able to unquestionably appreciate and enjoy existence.

Nancy and Cathy love taking care of Mike, and Mike loves being taken care of by Nancy and Cathy. In his own way, he fulfills and completes the ladies sense of being uniquely connected to the universe.

Mike calls their trio:  The Three H’s: Hazy Hot, and Humid.

They are three of the most contented people I have ever met.

 

Epilogue

 

Why Hazy, Hot and Humid?  Mike answered that with one of his “numerous humorous” observations:

Cathy is Hazy, with her feigned misunderstanding of events and Gracie Allen logic.

Nancy is Hot, for her unadulterated sexuality.

And......

Mike is Humid, for his unkept hair, having bad hair days even in the cold of New England.

 

End

 

Frankie Rembly  is new to writing and enjoys the renaissance of creativity in writing for television's new golden age.

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