Login Register Our Team Submission Guidelines Contact FAQs Terms of Use

New Fiction: Seizing Infinity

Henry Watterson half-listened to the television on in the other room so that he wouldn’t feel completely alone as he stared out the window and watched the traffic on Genesee Street.  He wasn’t paying attention to anything in particular, he never did these days. This had been his distracted routine since the funeral.

He heard the person on the television say something that snapped his head around. A man with a sophisticated English accent had just made a statement that jarred Henry out of his chair and made him run to the screen. He grabbed the remote and backed up the program to hear it again.

“It has been theorized that a black hole contains all time.”

He hit rewind again to hear it for a third time.

New Fiction: Childhood Nightmares

At first, the room gave no sound, but then a creak was heard from under the bed. Ryan’s ancient house, aching and groaning in the night. It happened all the time. He shut his eyes, half-dreaming, and then he heard the creak again. He shivered. Maybe it was the way the floor creaked, or maybe it was the time of year, but tonight, it reminded him of when he once snuck into his mother’s room while she was sleeping and slid under her bed. His mind drifted off. He was no longer forty and single. He was nine and afraid to be alone.

New Fiction: Dos & Hem in Spain’s Civil War, Part 2

And then war opened in Spain…

I went there, Hemingway went there, Gellhorn went there. All we Commies flocked there to be part of it. Gramsci was daring to call out Stalin and say that his Socialist genocide in Russia was not the method Communists should use for conquest in the future because the genocide wasn’t working. Communism was failing, Gramsci said, because of Christianity. Communists needed to take over the Means of Education in countries to supplant the Christian values with Communist values and, as I said, grow our crops in their fields. Gramsci showed the way to make elementary schools and entertainment our beachheads as we hid ourselves here to pivot to total psychological war. This peaceful approach gave me hope, because we were saying more that we could win by schooling rather than our usual promotion of hatred and murder for anyone who stood up to us.

Stalin talked about murdering Gramsci. But Gramsci was only talking these ideas at the time and his thinking mirrored the concerns of many who were afraid to speak out. And all of us in Spain waited on pins and needles. Remember, Stalin had called to Moscow the Swedish experts on race differences and Stalin listened intently to their findings. He asked them to stay in Moscow three days while he weighed their research. On the fourth day, Stalin announced his decision that Soviet-style Global Socialism would reject the race theories and that Global Socialists were superior to other people not by virtue of our race, but by virtue of our Marxist views. Acceptance of Marxism should determine who wins or loses, lives or dies, not race differences. All of us breathed a huge sigh of relief, because now we still had this clear distinction between us and Hitler’s Nazi Socialists. And Stalin, with his usual flourish, finalized his decision on race by executing all the Swedish experts whom he had invited to Moscow.

Click here for part 1 of this story.

New Fiction: Dos & Hem in Spain’s Civil War, Part 1

Hemingway and I first crossed paths in 1918 as ambulance drivers in the Great War. I was an ambulance driver on the French side, and he was on his way to drive for the Italians fighting the Austrians. It took six weeks of training to learn how to operate all the levers and cranks in those old jalopies. I graduated Harvard cum Laude in 1916, and it was there that my politics became radicalized. I was the bastard son of a distant, rich New York corporate lawyer, and I felt then that the world could only be made fair for the poor through Communism.

Hem and I met again when we were both expats in Paris. He arrived in the Latin Quarter with his bride, Hadley, eight years his senior, with a small pension from her family that would help a struggling writer. Hem was a strapping matinee-idol with unbelievably straight white teeth and confidence that would make life just too easy. His lack of appreciation for others was going to be hard for the rest of us. I was medium sized with owlish eyes and e.e. always said no one looked more “foreign” at Harvard than did I.

New Fiction: Cain’s Knife

The Detective sat down heavily opposite the suspect.

“We know you did it, we have a witness who saw you throw the knife into the reservoir,” said the Detective. “Why did you do it?”

“Toss the knife into the reservoir? Because it’s dangerous and I thought it was a good idea.”

The Detective frowned. “No, kill Joe Markham.”

The suspect scratched an eyebrow.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“You killed Joe Markham in the alley next to the Western Auto store last night.”

New Fiction: The Last Pistoleer

Rancho de San Miguelito, Chihuahua, Mexico – May 14, 1916 – High Noon:  “HALT!” yelled the young cavalry lieutenant, as the threehorsemen riding out of the gated archway veered away from the men he had posted on the southeast side of the hacienda and headed at full-gallop towards him. They had apparently been alerted to make their escape by the man skinning a dead cow in the yard that had run into the ranch house as the soldiers approached, and then came back out again, nonchalantly resuming his work.

“Damnit!” The lieutenant dropped the Springfield rifle he held in his left hand – useless with three riders less than twenty yards away and closing fast – and drew the Colt “Peacemaker” he’d picked up on order in El Paso just before deploying south of the border.

New Science Fiction: Why Me?, 1987

In 1984 they arrested me.

In 1987 I got out of reeducation.

I didn’t actually learn anything in reeducation. Of course I could repeat by rote every lesson they “taught” me. It isn’t teaching. It is hearing the same things over and over. Until you cringe in all your being against anything different.

But me, I was overhandled past terror, to numbness. I really don’t care. Yes, I learned my lesson. But I also understand them now and know they have nothing to fear from me because I am broken by the experience of how cunning they are. I know they are reading these writings, these scratchings. I leave them out for them to find.

Caribbean Halloween Killing: A True Story

We never knew some things about my gentle Grandmother Loyd. She kept those things secret. Darkly secret. Black secret.

Halloween stories are ridiculous. And I say that as a man who has had probably four run-ins with ghosts, not including this one. But this all happened.

My earliest memory of her was of her sweet, loving face beaming at me when I was three and leaving with my friends to Trick or Treat down my suburban street in Austin. She wore a 1950s pleated sleeveless, collared dress and waved goodbye to me and said, with music light as a wind-chime in her voice, “I’ll see you again after you go around.” Only years later, after the unlikely deaths in Puerto Rico around our vacation home, her old home, did the prescience in those words strike me.

New Fiction for Halloween: The New Boss

A Halloween Short Story

Texas Governor George W. Bush has just touched down at Portland International Airport. The word is out on talk radio: Bush will hold a rally at Memorial Coliseum at 7 pm. Halloween in the year 2000 dawned with the eternal chance of showers that make a Portland fall forecast, and Kyle Waldenburg wonders why W is bothering. It’s common knowledge that the Rose City is the progressive capital of a state Bush has no chance of winning.

That doesn’t stop the Reagan Republican divorced father of two from rounding up his children, Lance and Lindsey, fifteen and nine respectively, after getting permission from ex-wife Kay to take them out of school early.

“You never want to miss a chance to see a president,” he’d told her.

“I’ll agree to this,” Kay had replied, “but God forbid that man should become the president.”

Gangster Town: The First 2 Chapters from Book 3 in the American Blackout Thriller Series

The action continues in Fred Tribuzzo’s action-packed adventure

Cricket was half awake, and her dream continued to play outside her bedroom window. Her father’s profile, head down, as he was thinking or getting ready to give an answer to her question soon morphed into her great-uncle Tommy, a young soldier returning from World War Two. Other faces appeared, dissolved, people she had known, loved, and lost.

She was filling her lungs with her first conscious breath when the face outside the window turned into a white leopard. The big, wide face peered at her peacefully, eyes warm on the surface yet streaming the vastness of nature.

She quickly lifted herself up on one arm, disturbing her husband’s sleep. The animal had to be on its hind legs.

Purchase Gangster Town here on Amazon. Also check out this sample from Pulse of the Goddess: American Blackout Book 1 and the opening chapters from book 2, Slaves Beneath the Stars.

Older Posts