The Baker, The Butcher and The Brewer, Part One: The Baker 15
Serial Fiction ‘There was one place, he considered safe enough. It is as remote and secluded as this mountain village but in a different way. No, it’s not an island. I have been there...
Short stories & poems for everyone from everyone
Serial Fiction ‘There was one place, he considered safe enough. It is as remote and secluded as this mountain village but in a different way. No, it’s not an island. I have been there...
Serial Fiction They fitted right in the armchairs. A heavy wooded box with a royal insignia was the first thing the host reached for. ‘Do you fancy tobacco? I know you do smoke on occasion....
Serial Fiction By the time he finished with his narrative they reached the cottage and settled right outside of it with a small fire. They were domed by a living universe with blinking stars and...
Serial Fiction Archibald took Anton in for a few introductory days of leisure to a guesthouse in Southern France. He always had a smile on, took everything light and made it lighter. His calendar was...
Serial Fiction On one of his very first public appearances at a gallery when his popularity was gathering speed he met an old classmate. A girl, he remembered her as a girl even though she...
Serial Fiction Anton had a piece of toast in his mouth this whole time and was too afraid to chew it for it would make too much noise. The crunchy bread was half digested by...
Serial Fiction It was five after midnight and they just finished talking, he and the Pipe, they also finished a few bottles of wine. He remembered that they were drinking to celebrate his resolution. With...
Serial Fiction The Pipe’s contacts arranged for him a general management job at one of the most prestigious hotels in the city. People had to be in the industry for decades before they get...
Serial Fiction Once he emerged from debauchery at first he thought little of himself, he felt weak. He began to believe that his father is weaker than the Pipe and he was weaker than both....
Serial Fiction Anton was a third generation American if I must use labels. At early age he came to the equivocal realization that men are like raindrops speeding down from the sky, bound to...
It seems that the sea is home after all. I labored on the churning brine since boyhood, hauling in the bulging nets, scraping my hands on the antiquated equipment, lulled to sleep by the...
Poem “An artist should be hired,” they declared, “to commemorate the event!” All agreed it was a splendid idea, so for a painter they sent. He arrived and listened intently, as they described...