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Latest Stories

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…
July 03, 2025
Flash Fiction Benoit

The Brothers

Juan and Pascal were shipped to distant relatives on Delvina’s periodic hospitalisations. For smoking and breathing difficulties. She had been warned but could not stop. They did not understand the illness or the connection. Pascal stayed with cousins who…
June 04, 2025
General Stories Dylan James Harper

The Bylaws Of The Revolutionary Council

A loud clang rang through the bunker as the door slammed shut. “I really think we have a chance to win this thing!” Greg’s voice echoed throughout the cold walls. The three other inhabitants of the bunker, Jeff, Ben, and Malcolm, all sat around a table…
June 04, 2025
General Stories Michael Barlett

Resurrection

The man lay there in extremis, no longer thinking of cool abstracts like ‘catching the last train for the coast.’ He gulped great rasping breaths – holding them impossibly long – before finally exhaling in a shuttering burst of putrid air. He had been…
June 04, 2025
Flash Fiction Benoit

Time Warp

Nothing was in order, nothing optimal. Germany was awash with refugees and adventurers. Only Angie could hold it together; but then she opened the gates! Who knows why? Other politicians were dinosaurs in the museum. Integration was the solution, was it? That…

I believe I was stuck down here in the recesses of Leon’s subconscious because of the lack of oxygen we experienced at birth. I see and feel what Leon does, but I have no say or control over whatever he, or should I say, we do. Leon is not aware I am part of his psyche. My circumstance is somewhat comparable to that of a stroke victim or person in a coma, they can hear and feel everything around them, but they can’t respond and are totally helpless.

Leon and I tend to see things differently. Up is down, black is white, right is wrong; everything has always been backwards with us. This is why, to keep my sanity, I decided to call myself Noel.

It’s been a long and frustrating thirty years of never being able to relate to the outside world what I think and who I think weare or should be. There is a single process whereby Leon and I have acquired two distinct personal identities; it is how wewere singularly exposed to the norms, values, behavior, and social skills growing up, but the end result was we were socialized differently.   Unfortunately for me, my behavioral patterns have remained dormant and Leon’s have thrived. I am he, but he is not me.

Leon’s overall behavior, his educational, career and personal choices, have caused me considerable distress. For example, his interactions with people, mode of dress, and even the way and what he eats is indicative of a socially degraded, acutely primitive, and extremely brutal character. Leon has intentionally remained unacquainted with the world beyond his immediate orbit. In short, he is a troglodyte; hence so am I.

I’ve always been thankful for the fact that our parents defiantly disapprove of the course Leon has taken our life.  Their guidance, support and efforts over the years to properly bring us up to be a productive member of society has had a positive influence on me, but did little or nothing for Leon.  In times of complete exasperation with us, Dad has kiddingly asked Mom, “Are you sure Joey the Garbage Man is not Leon’s real father?”

 

I am captive labor and forced to continually participate in the life of this brutish, uncouth and dangerous sociopath. We get to work at approximately 9 PM at The Club Raquel.  This smoke filled and illegal drug supermarket is a magnet for all types of lowlifes.   As usual, I have no say, but the clothing selection is the uniform of the day for a beefy bouncer like us; black pants and a tightly fitting black tee-shirt accented by a gold chain. We are ready for a night of fight, ready to rumble, as weposition ourselves at the door.

I dread the redundant conversations that permeate every evening and drag into the wee hours of the morning. The usual talk commences with guys that are as sharp as a bowling ball, Vinnie, Rocco and Vito, the other bouncers. This initial banter usually pertains to the status of each individual’s conquest record with the female population that frequents The Club Raquel.

The sexual conquest discussion is usually followed by the detailed opinions on how various professional football coaches should deploy the titans of their teams. It is all quite tiresome, especially when punctuated with more meaningless talk about gyms, steroids and designer drugs.

The other major concern, I share with our parents as well is, our immediate and dangerous proximity to the outer fringes of organized crime. You’d think we were constantly under the biggest tree in town because of the shady atmosphere in which we circulate.

Between Joey Two Tone, the owner of The Club Raquel (he drives a variety of painted two tone vintage 1950’s cars) and Johnny White Boy the local drug and swag guy (a half original whose white cop father, impregnated his black mother); it’s not like we participate on the board the local ecumenical council.  I dread that it is almost impossible to continue not to engage in this web of moral and unlawful corruption.

Chuddy McVey and his partner Richie Santiago, known on the street and in the club as The Mick and The Spic enter via the front door. We know this means trouble as we pass along “the look” to the crew.  It would be easy to calculate the odds that a simple dissension will spill over into a physical confrontation within the hour.  So what else is new?

But the interracial team of wannabe wise guys just is there to deliver a message to Joey Two Tone regarding some business arrangement. They thank him for the free drinks and leave the club without incident. Now we should be relieved, but Leon is pissed that we missed a chance to fracture a skull, break an arm or bounce one of them off the sidewalk and into a dumpster.

Another long and boring night at The Club Raquel comes to an end.  We always park far away so no drunken asshole exiting his car scratches our beloved black Nissan Maxi. But before we can climb into our shiny ride with the tinted windows, the cold steel of a .22 caliber pistol meets the back of our head. An unrecognizable voice says, “Walk straight ahead and get behind the dumpster.”

Behind the dumpster there are two guys waiting for us.  One of them is the brother of some chick we banged last week in the bathroom of The Club Raquel.  I think her name was Tashinga. Leon’s always had a bad case of jungle fever and now we might have to pay for that.

The other dumpster dude was some short Asian guy.  The three of them start to beat the shit out of us.  It is 9am when we awake in the Emergency Room. The nurse says the cops want to talk to us. As usual we dummy up. Leon is already calculating revenge on his own.

This is my life, no, excuse me, this is our life.

End

 

I am a retired NYC police officer.

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