The Narrow Edge
Snippets and Speculative Fiction
The Dating Game
by Kilmo
Part One
A single mum who’s lost everything,
A worthless bitch,
Pick them up and use them,
Ditch them when you’re done,
Flash the cash,
Spread the load,
She’ll be desperate,
To escape the brat,
They always are,
I make sure of it,
Get the mates in next,
Your aunts,
Your uncles,
And the rest,
Isolate,
Confuse,
See how far you can push it this time,
Pretty soon you’ll have her seeing the light,
Doing the ten step walk,
A mile behind,
And six feet under,
Breath deep,
You know what that smell is?
Fish.
Part Two
Fucking Men,
Fucking backstabbers,
Least I’ve got the kid,
The rest of them,
All gone now,
I keep his room the way he likes it,
Liked it I suppose,
He paid a visit once,
Got drunk down the pub,
Shouted screamed,
Smashed the place up,
Said he was too good for this shithole anymore,
Too good to see me suffer more like,
Too much of his father in him,
I wish sometimes,
(at night when I’m sure there’s no one to see)
That I hadn’t,
It’s true what they say,
Love’s a bitch.
Issue 7 is HERE — Blind Corner Literary Magazine
April 1st, 2021 When we started Blind Corner Literary Magazine back in the fall of 2019, we had no idea how far it would take us. We had some hopes, a lot of motivation, and maybe even a few good ideas, but nothing that could prepare us for what was to come, or how quickly the magazine would find its footing.
Issue 7 is HERE — Blind Corner Literary Magazine
NAPOWRIMO DAY 28: HOW CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT?
by Kilmo
So many emergencies,
Take one,
Or a dozen,
Like flotsam,
On a wave that never seems to break,
And drown us all,
Filling our lungs with sludge,
Until there’s nothing left,
But corpses,
In water so toxic,
It should glow green,
With all the radioactive sludge,
Virus types,
And crud,
It’s made of,
Once I tried to build a surfboard,
With bargain tins,
And a cardboard box,
As I imagined what would happen,
When the end came,
Now I just hold on tight,
Knuckles white,
As I wonder,
If it isn’t best,
To be the first,
To die.
NAPOWRIMO DAY 27: ARACHNID
by Kilmo
A ravening metal spider,
Sprawls with its legs in the sea,
It’s beauty lit,
By the dragons breath,
Of its stacks,
Reflected in a thousand eyes,
That wink in the night,
Each one a warning,
Of what we cannot,
Get back.
“Mother of Sands” Short Story by Sun Hesper Jansen
The Hhest, my ancestors, called this soft twilight Ssayat Tlichat – the Awakening Hour, holy to harvesters and hunters and travelers and priests. Holy to the hundred thousand ghosts of the deep desert’s heart, whose numbers I will soon join if no one answers the bell I rang at the shrine. I did ring it, somehow, with a dagger in my chest. It’s still there; I fear to remove it.
Oh, Khassa. I want to close my eyes to stop seeing his face, but they have dried open. I can only lie still, bleeding out drop by drop into the cooling sand, and pray silently as the sun gurgles wine red on the teeth of the dunes.
I listen, until the vibration becomes a song under my skin, to the droning chorus of waking predators, and the answering frenzy of their prey, snatching up the last fruits of the day…
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“It Was Only a Joke” Fiction by Susan Hatters Friedman
If I’d have known that it was going to kill him, of course I would never have done it. We were young and in love. It was a joke.
The way he smelled. Like a forest.
His ID bracelet caught in my hair during our first kiss.
Every single thing about him was sexy. It was 1985. We were nineteen and in love and he could have worn shoulder pads and a crop top and I would have thought he was sexy.
I loved passing gum back and forth between our mouths when we were kissing. Yes, we were young.
I imagined him giving me the ID bracelet when we moved things to the next level. In novels, guys in the army gave women their ID bracelet. I hadn’t seen anyone our age wearing one. Maybe my gorgeous Michael was old-fashioned in this single lacuna.
Lying in the grass, I…
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The Chamber Magazine is Seeking Dark Fiction and Poetry from Around the World — Phil Slattery’s Blog
The Chamber Magazine is seeking articles, reviews, essays, poems, and short stories of approximately 5,000 words (more or less) including flash, micro fiction, smoke longs, drabbles or of any flavor of short fiction that demonstrates the art of writing dark fiction, whether it be prose, poetry, one-act plays, or any other form of literature. We […]
The Chamber Magazine is Seeking Dark Fiction and Poetry from Around the World — Phil Slattery’s Blog
Thursday doors – 15 April 2021
Doors 145 – Just some doors dotted around Bristol that took my fancy
I so desperately want to post some magnificent doors from a stately home or National Trust property or something like that, but I still haven’t been out much, so I am stuck with the ordinary everyday doors from around Bristol. Here we go for another Bristol doorscursion:
Door and steps, Saint Phillips, Bristol, April 2021
Two graffiti doors, Stokes Croft, Bristol, April 2021
Door within a door, Bristol, April 2021
Sliding doors, Easton, Bristol, April 2021
DNT, Nine Tree Hill, Bristol, April 2021
Bricked up door with the original gate intact, Bedminster, Bristol, April 2021
The weather is improving and lockdown is easing, so it shouldn’t be too long before I can get out and about for some fresh doors. Overseas holiday doors though are still a distant dream which is a pity… patience is a virtue.
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