Posts Tagged ‘ VII.II ’

“Strange Fish,” by David Powell

Dec 20th, 2010 | By

“I’ve bought you something,” she said. She looked excited, like a puppy eager to please.

“Oh really? What could that be? A season ticket to the opera, or a year’s supply of anti-depressants?” he said and shut the front door.

“Ow,” said the door. “Not so hard.”

“You’ll like it, I think,” she said. Her tongue was hanging out and she’d cocked her head to one side so that her ear flopped in a cute way over her left eye. “It’s to help your recovery. Come through.”

She led him into the sitting room.

“It’s an aquarium,” he said. “It’s just what I’ve always wanted. Is there a sunken ship?”

Defenestration: August 2010

Aug 20th, 2010 | By

Welcome, one and all, to the August 2010 issue of Defenestration!

Prepare yourselves. Prepare to fall in love with hilarity. Because it’s here, on every digital page. That’s how we roll here at Defenestration. This issue’s offerings are pretty hefty: four of the short stories this time around are well over 2,000 words, and two of those go beyond 3,000. After this read, you’ll be able to pat your belly with contentment. (Or whatever other body part you tap when you’re content. I won’t ask. I’m generally a polite guy.)

“Space Opera,” by Cal Cleary

Aug 20th, 2010 | By

I am sitting in a room with at least three hundred people, and I have been asked to move to the back because of my gigantic hat. I am not sure how to react. If I move, I will undoubtedly read about my shame in tomorrow’s gossip section, or at least I will hear about it tauntingly during my daily super-spacial swimming with fellow gentlemen. I do not want this. And, I reason, if the people behind me were important enough to do something about it, they would very probably not be sitting behind me.

“Famous Last Words,” by Paul Giles

Aug 19th, 2010 | By

SHIRT: “The first hanging is also the last.”

BED: “Tiredness: the little death.”

PILLOW: “Once bitten, twice shy.”

“Mack,” by Autumn Hayes

Aug 19th, 2010 | By

Forget your diet. We both know why you came here.
You ogle my browned buns,
my prime-beefcake physique,
and you cannot stay away
because I’m built