Tag: Short Story
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Chekhov’s Gun
A scary meta short story about Checkhov’s gun. You don’t want to read it. You’ve been warned.
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Smoking with The Devil
“I must inhale some nicotine into my lungs right now or I’ll turn into a homicidal maniac,” I apologized to Mrs. Goldman, the hostess. She dismissed the statement as just another self-effacing joke but if she had bothered to read even one of my books, she would know that the homicidal tendencies ran deep within…
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Ksenia
As I was walking down the road, the snow fell gloomily all around me and I ran into Ksenia. “Hey Ksenia!” I said, “What are you doing here?“ “Who are you?” she asked and scanned me from head to toe. “Oh, I’m a big fan of yours. I follow you on Twitter.“ She wore a…
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Sex is for Losers
NSFW! This story is not safe for work or younger readers. Only continue to read if you’re an adult. “Come on, come on, come on now, don’t be like that, okay?” Rosanna bit her lip, the lower one, nervously, not seductively at all. No, it wasn’t seductive at all. It was purely nervousness. Could be…
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Hendrix is Dead
HENDRIX is dead. Look at him just lying there. His stomach has stopped moving. Or has it? Did it just move? How am I to tell? I’m no doctor. I should have just left him with the vet like he said. I brought him home, stayed up all night watching him suffer and now he’s…
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Noah’s Art
The paintings gave Noah stomach cramps. He stumbled from one to the next, holding his stomach tightly with one hand, spilling wine out of the glass in the other. All the paintings in the entire gallery were, to put it simply, crap. One after the other: crap after shit after garbage after crap. He wanted…
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Leopard Skin Undies
The leopard skin undies hanging from the doorknob swung lightly in the breeze. Who left a window open somewhere, I thought. I almost went over to check before realizing that the undies were more important than the breeze. There’s an old saying, “The undies are always more important than the breeze.” I brought my attention…
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Dostoevsky Hangover
Kareena Katroveena scrubbed the floor with all her life-force, the boar bristle brush making swooshing sounds against the wooden boards of the floor, but for the life of her, she couldn’t get rid of the blood stains. It was just one major blood stain really, in the shape of the map of Mother Russia, with…
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Rudya Aditya 