The city was larger than Alan remembered. He had wandered its old, European streets for three days and still felt he had only grazed the surface. It had been so different when he and Marion had come here on their honeymoon. They had only stayed for a week (that was all the time he could take off from work) but they knew almost every side street and alleyway by the time they left.
Continue reading Gods in the Machine
Winner, winner chicken dinner! OCH Flash Fiction winner is Joseph Schmidt with his entry Ancient History. No sin is left unpunished in this tale and won Joseph a feature on OCH’s LitWeek.
Read and discover the twists of Joseph Schmidt’s mind and keep an eye out for future Flash Fiction contests.
Continue reading FLASH FICTION CONTEST: Ancient History by Joseph Schmidt
It probably seemed like a good idea at the time. All those years ago, in the depraved, early days of the 21st century, it must have seemed like such a clever idea to them. To send a satellite into space carrying the messages of thousands of people, a satellite that would orbit the earth for five thousand years before returning. Stocked with the dreams and madness of a futile race, unwittingly eking out its final days. They must have thought we would be so grateful, poring over their messages as eagerly as they would have greeted messages from their primitive ancestors.
Continue reading Satellite of Love
The sixty-eight rattles down the tracks filled with tired, tattered humanity on their way home from the workday, or on their way to start the night-shift. The pungent odor of sweat, diesel, and vomit assault the senses of a man sitting by the door. He looks around. The young, well dressed man in the adjoining seat gazes intently at his Kindle, his body language stiff and withdrawn as if saying, “leave me be.”
Continue reading Random Encounter
I grew angry, genuinely, with a sneeze today on the train. It was my own, and it rattled me wholly. It was as if I was smacked hard across the face. As if insulted, personally, and while ill-prepared with a clever retort. I muttered to myself fuuuck subsequently, and even spent some time dwelling upon its occurrence. But why, I wondered. What was I so mad at? Who?
Continue reading Wet Hair by Michael Shields