Damon Hill, Doctor Kildare and me… still? – By Rosemary Bach-Holzer
Offbeat Writings / November 22, 2009

Part One I’m supposed to enlighten you with an update? My fault, I suppose, for leaving my previous account on a real cliffhanger. What do you mean, not that you noticed! Hmm… I’m no longer in hospital. I made my escape, that is, I discharged myself after one night. Not on my list of my most favourite places in the world especially when having to share a room with the woodwind section of not the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Did I ever get back to sleep? Yes, thank you, absolutely, but only with the aid of a sleeping tablet strong enough to knock out two fully-grown elephants and then I was awoken by a nurse three hours later. “Mrs Bach-Holzer? Mrs Bach-Holzer, wake up, please.” “Hmm…?” “Mrs Bach-Holzer, please wake up!” “Wassup?” “Ah, good. We must ensure you get some sleep.” “Eh?” Did they find out what was wrong with me? I mean, besides everything else. No. Well, yes and no and thereupon I discharged myself. The meals weren’t too bad even if they did feed me meat. They had been notified that animal wasn’t to be found on my personal menu at home, although, messing up my food wasn’t a…

The Gorilla – By Adam Graupe
Flash Fiction / November 22, 2009

It was my first day on the job as a clerk at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and the line stood about twenty people deep. I looked over to a Gorilla who sat at his desk. This Gorilla was at least fifty pounds overweight and wore glasses that constantly slipped down the bridge of his nose. There was one other worker in our branch, a chimp of about 30. I never figured out what the chimp’s job was as he usually sat in a corner next to a printer and never spoke. According to legend, the Gorilla drove several dozen DMV employees to branch transfers, resignations, and early retirements. Like the fool that I was, I thought somehow I could deal with a Gorilla. I called out, “I could use a little help at the front counter.” A brunette six places back in line cleared her throat. The Gorilla said, “I could help you.” I gave an eye test to a teenager and after completing this I looked over and the Gorilla sat at his desk. I said, “I thought you were going to come up.” The Gorilla said, “I said I could help you, I didn’t say I would…

Winds of Change, Inc. – By Omar Gheith
Flash Fiction / November 8, 2009

Yesterday, a young man came by my house and asked if I’d like to participate in a revolution. His organization had been going from door to door in all of the significant neighborhoods, he explained, collecting signatures. He asked me if I was outraged. “I guess I could be happier,” I mused. At this, his face beamed. “I feel your woe, friend, I feel your woe.” He handed me a clipboard, which was attached to a good thick stack of paper. At the top of the stack was a page of signatures, all indistinct and crowded around one another in grey glorious pencil. “It’s been a good day for the cause,” he said with brash modesty. Underneath this page was another just like it, followed by three more. The fourth one after that was about half full. “That’s where you come in, brother.” “I see. And is there anything you’d need me to do for the cause?” It seemed like a reasonable question. “No-” his voice was warm, chipper- “All we need is for you to write your name on that piece of paper. Let your voice be heard!” He pumped a fist into the air, like a character in…

Confident Bastard – By B. Collette Davis
Flash Fiction / November 1, 2009

I introduced my co-worker to a prying website dubbing itself as a public search engine. The virtual nuisance supplies addresses and telephone numbers of almost anyone who is unknowingly in demand. My co-worker began her exploration: a lost class mate, an ex-boyfriend, finally, her father. She delayed her enthusiasm, saving the person she desired most in this world for last. The website humiliated her. It provided the general public with information she had never known about her father. She scribbled his number down on a yellow post-it. Not his name, not Daddy– just the number. “I’m going to call him and curse his ass out” she forewarned. Her tone, however, suggested she was not ready for the broken conversation. She folded the small note, and the post-it sealed itself with the number divided in half. “I’m going to let him have it. My father has been in Ohio all this time. I need to do this,” she declared. I nodded in agreement. “You should look up your dad as well,” she suggested. I looked at the small, crescent crease on the side of her eyes. It illuminated when she was determined. Her mission now appeared to be connecting fathers to…

Swingle Limes – By J. Keegan
Micro Fiction / November 1, 2009

Go out for poms. Drivers license. An only family graduation party. Crappy grassland university. Communications major. Want ads. No job and having to live at home. Having to waitress forever. Marrying a dud. 1200 square foot house. 2.2 children. Sorority sisters on Facebook. Husband’s affair at the office with a younger, thinner woman. Trying to pluck out gray hairs. Root canal. So Virginia Slims, this is postmodernism? Spaceship lands, offers other worlds. Psychological exams, 700 Million applicants. One of only 13,000. Saying goodbye to the children. “I’m going to miss key lime pie, but not you little bastards.” About the Author J. Keegan J. Keegan has had work published in Me Three, Dark Sky Magazine, and again in Dark Sky Magazine, Poetic Voices, Aphelion, Flashshot, Alien Skin, Reflection’s Edge, and as well as Antipodean SF.