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Incendiary New Fiction: May 2006 Issue Toilet Bet | by Dunc Williams
"It
had been a long hard day cleaning toilets in
the down town area of city. These are some
of the worse toilets across the whole
country and this is probably the worst job I
ever had. After ten hours of cleaning
toilets I need a shower, a long shower, and
a beer. This didn’t happen today though.
This was a particularly bad day. It wasn’t
over yet but as I stand on home plate with
only one strike left I really wish this day
didn’t happen. If I could delete a day it
would definitely be this one. The Peeping Tom | by Connie Vigil Platt
"There
was only one thing that made that kind of
thump. That was definitely the sound of a
body falling. Melanie jumped from the couch
where she had been lying comfortably wrapped
in a blanket, untangled her legs from the
coverlet and ran to the next room. The sound
had undeniably come from the bathroom. Her
roommate of two years, Brandi, had gone to
take a long luxurious bubble bath. You Dirty Whore | by Brett Stout
"I
lit a cigarette and wiped my cock off on her
pillow. I left her laying there with a
strange look on her face. I grabbed her pack
of cigarettes and a Coke out of the
refrigerator on the way out. The damn cat
was in my way again so I kicked it really
hard this time. I slammed the door and
stumbled out trying to figure out how the
fuck I was going to get home this time.
"The
sex was stale, David thought as he entered
the elevator. He was tired of making love to
a log of wood, that is, he also thought, if
he can get the log of wood to open up
between its split ends. She was tense,
passive and uncaring. The sexual deprivation
he had endured recently was becoming a
crisis for him. He was tired of waiting for
the entrance. He was now ready to seek a
different entry point. He wanted something
smoother, sexier, more vibrant, and maybe
younger. His relationship with Cindy was
complicated by the fact that they had lived
together in the last one year.
The Saddest Break of
Day
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by P.H. Madore "The sudden shatter of glass was real, and I was launched to consciousness as my body heaved forward, my head smacking the dashboard. I smelled rum and burning rubber and blood—surrounding me was the stink of indulgence. As my head slammed back my eyes were wide. Headlights I knew to shine golden were spots of white; tail-lights I knew as red were countless scattered shades of gray. As the car rolled once on its side, I reached left for Corey to touch his heart, see if there was a pulse still; touched his neck and was immediately and truly shocked for the first time since adolescence—there was no pulse, no head. Swim | by Paul Cavanaugh " The tete-a-tete was taking place on the bank of the river. The river was a lugubrious, tenebrous reek of dead dogs and drown cats. A tramp floated by now and again, bloated and bleached. The undulations croaked like frogs and moaned like bored whores fighting off ennui, feigning interest in the cock that is pounding them. The river dichotomized, anatomized the town like all good rivers. Summer Spent | by JJ DeCeglie
"Sep
felt he was handling the liquor very well.
He felt that mostly he always did this. He
measured his gait and watched the road and
train tracks they crossed and then the
rougher terrain down by the water. There
wasn’t a false step he had taken and both
had spoken well on literature and football
with two conclusions reached, the first that
much more Faulkner must be read and read out
and his life must be understood more fully,
he worked with Fante in Hollywood you know
Sep had said, Chase adding that Bukowski had
told Fante on his deathbed that he was as
good as Faulkner ever was, Sep already knew
this, he also knew that Faulkner was the
greatest drunk of them all, more than Hem or
Jack, than Buk or Hunter, Sep wondered in a
flash of the work he could produce if he
left and died in that Parisian hotel alone
and drunk with whores and books and
paintings fresh in his eyes, the second
point settled was that the Dockers may do
well this year if they just had more courage
when the ball was there to be won and if
they would play genuine football, Sep added
that Pavlich would have to be All-Australian
Captain and both admitted he was one of the
real ones and could kick eighty goals from
centre half forward. They both handled the
booze well and sat on a bench on the grass
before the sand of the beach was below them.
Closer Than You Think | by Jason Jackson
"The
alley stinks of piss, and rotten food, and
petrol. When we fucked here, that one and
only time that we ever did - or ever will -
fuck, we were so drunk we could hardly
stand. It was September, the end of summer,
a new town, and the start of the rest of our
lives. You were wearing those shoes, with
the little stars that you’d painted on the
front. Twisted | by A.F. Cronin
"Before
we begin, if I may, I’d like to say a few
words about pretzels. Pretzels can be soft
or hard, crunchy or chewy, salty or not. But
to be considered authentic, a pretzel must
twist. Pretzel-sticks are nothing more than
a pale, rod-shaped rip off of properly
twisted pretzels. If they were mammals,
pretzels and pretzel-sticks could not
reproduce. They are as different as water
and ice: same substance, different form. |
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