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Latest Stories

July 08, 2025
General Stories Michael Barlett

Dance Of Death

CHAPTER ONE 1940 Chief Inspector Kenneth Langford offered the Commissioner a crisp salute, and then walked back through the labyrinth of passageways to his own small office. Langford was a member of the London Metropolitan Police, commonly referred to as…
July 08, 2025
Poetry Markus J

The Winter Blues

the winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight Its icy tentacles wrap around me and squeezes freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite staving off the cold is a battle, an endless fight it brings forth an assortment of nasty diseases The winter…
July 08, 2025
Horror Stories Sushma R Doshi

Deliverer Of Messages

A loner in my childhood, my scrawny and weak figure prone to being bullied by sturdy and robust boys, I tended to wander around places frequented by few. Those curvy roads which fell into darkness after evening without street lights, the area near the pond…
July 08, 2025
General Stories L Christopher Hennessy

With A Side-Eye I Cherish

for Brittany ma amour Up to my neck in sadness for something just out of reach and she came along and fired up my life with kisses and the physical. The moment I looked into her eyes I didn't want to share her with anyone else and keep her all to myself. In…
July 03, 2025
Poetry Markus J

The Days Of Future Dreams

the days of future dreams the flames once rose high thinking our lives would end up supreme thinking our future seemed a far of dream but in the end nothing is what it seems many times the winds of changed has blown this way one minute we`re lapping the cream…
July 03, 2025
General Stories L Christopher Hennessy

Bad Girl

Part 1I lost the entire manuscript when I assassinated my laptop with sauvignon blanc as I rubbed the lower back of a woman who dozed drunk on my bed, sweating. She was crazed, somewhere between screaming and lying about the orgasm. Bree was a miracle to me,…
July 03, 2025
Horror Stories Nelly Shulman

Black Is Our Colour

“I swear she could have been you. Look! This girl is your long-lost twin.” Fi nudged me, and I smiled. “Never had or wanted one.” I stood up. “Let’s go, or the bargain hunters will clear the shelves before us.” We dived into the vintage emporium across the…
July 03, 2025
Poetry Markus J

The Transformation

"I need a brake" words that twisted my heart- shattering the dream that we would never part. I asked myself 'what ever did I do wrong? sad, gloominess could`ve easily been my song. I wouldn't let the anger and misery grow or cultivate- uprising feelings I…
July 03, 2025
Flash Fiction Benoit

Jae

It was Jae’s birthday today. She turned eight. What a beautiful sunny girl! Hyo planned a surprise or two; Li, his wife, did too. Birthday cake, a puppy and … Don’t forget, they grinned just before he drove off. Traffic was intense. A long call came from…
July 03, 2025
General Stories Matias Travieso-Diaz

Fear

Leandro stood outside the Kroger, leaning forward as he shivered in the early March dawn. He hated this moment: the cold, the fatigue, the feeling of helplessness, the anticipation of another day ahead at his degrading job picking collard leaves under the…
July 03, 2025
Horror Stories Mihko Askiweno

Found You

Panic gripped her as she staggered up the steep, rocky incline, breath coming in jagged, shallow gasps. Sweat streamed down her face in torrents, her hair clinging to her forehead and cheeks in disheveled clumps. Her legs trembled with exhaustion, molten fire…
July 03, 2025
Poetry Markus J

Lost On The Path

But alas; sometimes I think we've lost our way- too many strayed opinions...one too many a survey. Walking on the road ahead, just following the herd of sheep- with a hypnotised mind, wide awake yet very fast asleep. While yelling...join the team of the…

Adam Carr, a fifty-year-old antique dealer stood in the middle of his emporium and watched shoppers as they examined his unusual antiques. Collectors from all over the world came to buy his statues, artwork, jewelry, books, and hundreds more antiques that no other antique dealer could offer. Sir Eric Morgan, holding a gold necklace and a dagger, worked his way through the crowd to Adam. “Adam, my good man, my catalog shows this necklace to be one worn by Nefertiti of Ancient Egypt, circa 3600 BC,” he said and showed Adam the picture in the catalog. “An amazing resemblance, wouldn’t you say, old chap? Was it made for you? If so, shouldn’t you label it a replica?”

“Sir Morgan, suppose I told you that it is not a replica. What would you say?”

“Well, Adam, I would say…I would say, well how could it be? If it were the real thing, the archeological world would have broadcast its find. I don’t understand.”

“Sir Morgan, we’ve known each other for many years. I would never lie to you. Tell you what. Take the necklace to anyone you want to have it examined. I’m sure you have an expert on your payroll who can tell a replica from the authentic piece.”

“That is very generous of you. I will take you up on your offer. Now, I would like to know about this,” he said holding up the dagger.

“My friend, what you’re holding is an ancient Roman dagger used by Brutus to kill Caesar.”

“Come, now, this can’t be the real thing. I mean something like this would surely have been lost. Where did you get it?”

“My friend, let me just say I got it. You may take both to your expert if you wish.”

“May I keep them for a week? I’ll have to fly my man in ­from London.”

“Of course. Take your time. If you will excuse me, I believe I have a customer,” he said and went to a woman who was holding a painting in one hand and her check book in the other.”

After everyone had left, Adam tallied his sales. “$100,000 thousand. Not bad. I will have to acquire some more antiques,” he said, went to his office, pressed some buttons on the lock, and the door opened. He entered, locked the door behind him and went to a sliding door in the wall and entered a walk-in closet. He removed a black jump suit, a black head covering, black gloves, and black, sneaker-like shoes. Standing in front of an ornate, full-length mirror, he put on the clothes. The head-covering, which was lined with Velcro at the neck, stuck smoothly to the Velcro that lined the turtle-neck collar of the jump suit. The front of the mask was made with material that he could see through and allowed him to breath as though there was nothing covering his face. When he finished dressing, he turned to see that no skin could be seen. Every inch of him was covered. Next, he took a black back pack that was made out of the same material as his clothes, and slung it on his back.  He looked in the mirror, and, after several moments he became invisible. “There. Now I’m ready for a shopping trip.” He turned toward his office door, opened it and saw a man trying to get into a show case in which there was jewelry.  He locked his office door and walked slowly toward the man, who heard him and turned. “What the hell. I thought I heard someone. Must be my imagination,” he said and returned to the show case.  Adam walked up to the case and slapped the man in the face. “What the *^%$,” he swore and put his hand to his face. Adam hit him again, knocking the man to the floor. “Jeez, this place is haunted,” he gasped and ran out of the building.

“Being invisible has its advantages,” Adam said, returned to his office, and went to the mirror.  “Mirror, I want to see Nero watching Rome burn.”

“Yes, Master. Look.” a voice said and Adam looked in the mirror and saw a city in flames. The vision showed a man standing on a roof top apparently singing and playing an instrument.

“He’s playing a cithara. If I don’t get it, it will be lost in the flames,” he said,   stepped into the mirror and set foot on the roof. Nero was a few yards away.  Adam hurried to Nero and pulled the Cithara out of his hands startling him.

“Mirror, make a portal for me, and an opening appeared. Nero stared as Adam went through the opening and stepped out of the mirror into his office. “This is a treasure,” he said holding the Cithara up. “Imagine, this was in Nero’s hands. Wait ‘til the collectors see this, especially Sir Morgan.”

A week of brisk business went by and Sir Morgan returned. “Adam. How do you do it? How do you get these? My expert said they are authentic. How much do you want for them?”

“One million for each.”

“Sold. And, Adam, I’ll give you anything you want if you will tell me how you got these.”

“I’m sorry, my friend, I can’t tell you.”

“Alright. If you won’t tell me how, may I ask you to get something for me?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

“Nero’s fiddle. The fiddle he played while Rome burned.”

“He didn’t play a fiddle. The fiddle or violin wasn’t invented until the 16th century. Nero played an instrument called a cithara, it’s like a lyre. Come with me,” Adam said and went to the cithara that he put in a show case. “There it is.”

“My God, Adam,” Sir Morgan said looking closely at the cithara. “Anyone else would say you’re a charlatan, but I know you are not. I believe you. I must have it. How much?”

“Two million. It wasn’t easy getting this.”

“Sold. Now, tell me, can you get anything?”

“I doubt that I can get anything. Why? What do you want?”

“Don’t laugh. I want the forbidden fruit. You know, Adam and Eve and the serpent.”

“You’re joking. The story of Adam and Eve is just a story. Not too many people believe it’s true.”

“I know, but if it’s true, then you would know.”

“Alright. I’ll try.”

“Great,” he said, he shook Adam’s hand and he left.

That night, Adam prepared himself and faced the mirror. “Mirror, I want to go to the Garden of Eden when Eve encountered the snake,” he said, and an image of a garden and a woman talking to a snake that was coiled around a tree branch. “Oh, my God, it’s true,” he thought, stepped into the mirror and stood in the garden. As he did, his clothes disappeared and he stood naked. Eve turned to him.

“Adam, come see what the snake has for us to eat,” she said and reached for the apple.

Nobody knew what happened to Adam. Sir Morgan thought he knew, but never shared his thoughts with anyone.

 

The End

 

Bio: While teaching communication skills and English at a community college, Mr. Greenblatt wrote short stories and plays, one of which won a reading at Smith College. Since retiring in 2000, he has written short stories and novellas.

 

 

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