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Latest Stories

November 18, 2025
Mystery Stories Kanwar P. S. Plaha

When The Time Is Right

Ferguson, with his thinning hair, a crooked nose, and a vipe in his mouth that gave him a sleuth-y look, was staring at the holographic, virtual screen. Seven poker-faced suspects stared back at him. His assignment was simple. Find the time-travelling…
November 18, 2025
Science Fiction Stories L Christopher Hennessy

The Report On Carter

We do not name ourselves. We do not speak. We do not feel. We record. Protocol 9 was initiated on Sol-3, Sector 7, following anomalous emotional emissions from a carbon-based bipedal entity designated Carter. Subject exhibited high concentrations of grief,…
November 18, 2025
Horror Stories Thomas Wetzel

The Janitor And The Machine

The first time I used the machine nothing really happened at first. I just stepped out of the pod a minute or so after the lights shut down and everything seemed the same. I mean, I didn’t really know what to expect. I was just curious. But when I woke up the…
November 18, 2025
Science Fiction Stories L Christopher Hennessy

A Bug In Your Mental Health

The first one appeared on a Tuesday. Gregory Hume had just microwaved a frozen shepherd’s pie and was halfway through a rerun of “Quantum Leap” when he saw it—skittering across the linoleum like a twitchy shadow. He blinked, paused the show, and leaned…
November 18, 2025
Crime Stories Daryl Rothman

Sebastian Marlow

"Mr. Marlow? I thought it was you. Wow. So excited to meet you--well, not really meet you, I mean you're obviously having dinner here with your friends and I'm just some random person who's interrupted you, but just to see you and get a chance to introduce…
November 18, 2025
Science Fiction Stories L Christopher Hennessy

The Algorithm Of Grace

Elias woke to the smell of lavender and the sound of birdsong. The sun filtered through lace curtains, casting golden veins across the floor. His apartment was immaculate. The coffee brewed itself. The newsfeed whispered affirmations: You are safe. You are…
November 18, 2025
General Stories Syed Hassan Askari

God In The Loudspeaker

He lived in a small four-marla house — a thousand square feet — beside the transformer in the back lane of the mosque. Fifteen years had passed since he had settled in this village. Everyone respectfully called him Maulvi Sahib. In winter, his voice echoed…
November 18, 2025
Fantasy Stories Frank Talaber

We Are Lovers Of The Ethereal

I staggered from the house party into the backyard more drunk or stoned than I cared to admit needing fresh air. A growl broke the rhythmic pounding of music. I stared into the red eyes of the massive dog, chained in place. I’d had enough dealings with…
November 18, 2025
Science Fiction Stories L Christopher Hennessy

Deleting Her Gently

She kissed him goodbye knowing he wouldn't remember her tomorrow. The kiss lingered longer than it should have, a soft press of lips against fading certainty. The man before her—Tom August—smiled, unaware of the weight behind her touch. His eyes, still bright…
November 18, 2025
Horror Stories Tom Kropp

Exonerated Evil

My dad died in the LA ghetto when I was only 14. That's also the night I killed five gang members and damned my soul. My dad was a disabled vet. He lost his left leg in Iraq. He lived with chronic pain from his wounds and he fought his addiction to…
November 18, 2025
Science Fiction Stories L Christopher Hennessy

The Bone Archive

The cathedral had no roof. Its spires jutted like broken ribs into a sky choked with ash. Vines of rusted fiber-optic cable hung from shattered stained glass, twitching in the wind like dying nerves. Beneath the altar, hidden behind a false panel of oxidized…
November 18, 2025
Horror Stories James D. Brewer

The Strange Tale Of Pismire And Isos

It began like any other day. As his fellow workers secured their loads and assumed their position in the column, Pismire noted that his teammate, Isos, was struggling to maintain his grip as they held the supplies above them. Isos was always slow and a bit…

Wimbledon has begun and our house is full of excitement. The tennis season always evokes tremendous enthusiasm from the LOH(Lady of the House). She even sacrifices her "Bold and Beautiful" TV time to "Prime Sports" and literally leaves Brooke holding her baby. Not that she is a great tennis lover, but she is an ardent fan of Ms Maria Sharapova. She watches every match that Ms Sharapova plays and her prayers for Ms Sharapova's victory become loud and clear.

I have only to applaud or comment "Well played" on a point scored by Ms Sharapova's opponent and she threatens me with a boycott which I can ill afford. Her comments while watching Ms Sharapova at play are so knowledgeable.

"Just watch! She is going to win today. She is wearing black bangles on her wrist," she exclaims in glee. Ms Sharapova's defeats are attributed to not wearing black bangles or some other trinket that the great tennis star is fond of wearing.

The other day she was absolutely ecstatic with Maria's performance.

"You know I am going to name my granddaughter Maria," she enthused.

"Don't you think that is going a bit too far?" I queried.

"Why what is wrong with it?" she countered. "We have to name her something and Maria is my favourite person."

"But what happens if she doesn't play tennis when she grows up?" I asked.

"She will play tennis," she said with finality typical of her. "And she will become a world champion too."

"And how are you going to ensure that?" I egged her on. Now she was in full flight. Her runaway fancy got the better of her.

"Catch them young! That's what I will do," she went on. "I shall give her a silver tennis racket in place of a rattle when she is born. She will develop a good firm grip right from day one," she added.

"And what about the black bangles?" I said tongue in cheek.

"Yes," she said, "She will get those too. I shall arrange to have her coached from childhood. I shall show her all the video cassettes of all Maria's matches that I am recording. I will make her a world champion. And when she does win the Wimbeldon..."

"She will tell the world 'I owe my success to my grandma. There are people who are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, but I was born with a silver racket in my hand.'" I interrupted her.

"Yes." The faraway look in her eyes and the smile of intense satisfaction on her face told me she was already dreaming of the moment.

"Come on, Darling. She has got to be the first Indian woman to sail round the world single handed," I said. The sailor in me got the better of me even though discretion dictated otherwise.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snubbed me. "When was the last time you won a race. You and your sailing! It's always some protest or the other, or a gear failure or whatever."

She did have a point there.

"But what can I do? You only pray for Ms Sharapova's win and not mine," I countered.

"I only pray for winners," she said.

"But they don't need your prayers."

Just then our son walked in. We were just warming up and the domestic battle was enjoined. He had gathered soon enough what it was all about.

"Mom and Dad, what makes you think that your granddaughter will become a sports person at all? Don't I have a say in the matter?" he asked.

"And pray what has this got to do with you?" said the LOH.

"She'll be my daughter."

"No she will be my granddaughter and she will play tennis. And that’s that," the LOH responded.

"But Mom..."

"I'll have no buts from you young man. And another squeak from you and ...."

"So Mom, you agree to my marrying ...."

"Over my dead body," she said.

"But..."

"Don't you think this is all a trifle premature?" I put in a word edgewise. That is all that I can manage on such mother-son confrontations. He is only eighteen and our dream granddaughter has many years yet before she arrives. But while we wait here is more strength to Ms Sharapova and I hope our granddaughter is not beaten to being the first Indian Woman to sail solo round the world.

 

End

 

Bio:   I have served for over 33 years in the Indian Army Corps of Engineers and am retired now. Love writing humour and short stories. I have also written books on Military History and Management. Some of my short stories were published when I was much younger. Professional commitments pushed my fiction writing to a stand still. I have the time and the inclination now and wish to share my wit with others.

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