Cover art for SciFanSat issue 11
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Issue 11 of SciFanSat featuring my short story is now available. Read the current issue in viewer, as a PDF, or an ePub.
Although my name isn’t mentioned o the cover or the main page, I did get a nice email this morning listing the seventeen published authors as:
Cover art for issue 11 of the SciFanSat e-zine
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My flash fiction horror tale “Olivia Comes Home” has been accepted for publication at the SciFanSat monthly e-zine due to be published online on Saturday, June 29th, 2024, in their eleventh issue (the cover for the tenth issue is above).
This is a wee story with a word count of 545 and follows a goth girl named Olivia who is trying to find someplace where she will be accepted.
PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin
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Henry only needed to turn the gas back on for a little while. He’d arranged for the stove to have a significant leak. Rachel would smell it, but he would tell her she’s imagining things. Then he’d go outside pretending to tend to the garden.
When she came out complaining of a headache or dizziness, he’d suggest she stay with her sister Jeannie for the weekend. Anything to get rid of her and her damned nagging. Then he’d fix the leak, air out the house, and finally be able to relax.
He didn’t count on her lighting an incense stick.
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
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The rental was one of several identical row houses, one bedroom plus a loft, one-and-a-half baths, small kitchen and dining area. The neighborhood was quiet. It was a perfect place to finish his last novel. It would also be his first novel, but the publisher said it was a sure bestseller.
At seventy-one, his first and only bestseller after laboring for over forty years. It cost him his marriage, any connection to his family, and certainly his sobriety.
He could have it done and submitted in a few months. Once published, then the long, drunken descent into his last goodnight.
PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin
If you like my work, buy me a virtual cup of coffee at Ko-Fi.
“There’s no going back.” Leonard sat on the metal chair opposite her, casually running his index finger across the symbols etched on the tabletop. It was a public garden, quite lovely. The summer morning was humid but still cool.
“I didn’t say anything about going back, just reliving the experience with a different outcome.”
“It’s a fantasy. I wouldn’t be able to save them.”
“But you’d be able to see that their deaths were not your fault.”
“And this disc will do that for me?” He waved his hands over the table’s surface.
“Let’s begin the ceremony and find out.”
PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox
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How did I end up like this?
Look at this. A baby walker, little kiddie motorized truck, and the worst of it, a mega-propane barbecue.
This isn’t me. It was never me. I guess that’s the point, though.
“Alan? Can you come in and help me change the baby’s diaper?”
“Yeah, Hon. In a minute.” I sound just like some stupid suburban husband. I mutter, “The name’s Ricco.”
I shrug my shoulders and start trudging up the back steps. Diapers. Married. Barbecues. It’s not me, but then the mob won’t be looking for a hit man turned state’s evidence here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox
If you like my work, buy me a virtual cup of coffee at Ko-Fi.
He didn’t remember how he got here. It was some sort of posh restaurant. He was alone, although there were two menus on the table. An unknown appetizer was sitting in front of him looking particularly vile.
The taste of his soft drink made him want to vomit. He tried to act calm, then realized not only did he not know where he was, he didn’t know who he was.
He started to get up when a fairly attractive young woman approached.
“Hello. I’m Joy, your server. Welcome to your first day at cognitive depression treatment clinic. Shall we begin?”
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
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Mastema watched Tancred’s ascension as Prince of Galilee over Beit She’an with hidden glee. This ancient city of the Hebrews had passed through many hands before falling into those of the Crusaders in the year of their Lord 1099 C.E.
It was well that Tancred did not know the true name or origins of his faithful adviser, because Mastema had his own reasons for coveting the city in the Jezreel Valley. He divined that men in ages to come would find sacred and mystic Egyptian artifacts. There was one he must take that would render him master of the dead.
PHOTO PROMPT © Amanda Forestwood
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14-year-old Stace McPherson was drawn to the musician’s unusual stringed instrument. The backyard wedding reception was over. He was supposed to be helping clean but he wanted to touch it. The musician, no one called him anything else, had played the most amazing tunes, like from another world. He looked around. Just the last few guests. The musician was saying good-bye to the bride and groom. He had to do it. Stace let his fingers glide across the strings. As he did, something creative entered him. Ten years later with his own guitar, he accepted the best new artist Grammy.
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