Tuesday night

Club 41 on King Street West Monica's hand slid across the back of my neck, causing me a chill, and she drew me towards her. I inclined and our lips met, first, tenderly, and then a little more insistently. I felt the velvet softness of her tongue slide past my lips. "Wow," I commented, savouring the lingering sensation of her lips. "What did

Confusing fiction

When boundaries fade Paul Edmunds had become a writer by default. It was a coping mechanism first suggested by his psychiatrist when, months after the tragic death of Paul's wife, Hannah, on a winter night of snow and ice, his psyche was threatening to refuse treatment and, instead, go to a place of endless sorrow and regret. “I bought

Waiting for the end

Club 41 on King Street West Walking east on King Street... No. That isn't quite right. We were doing something different from walking but, it wasn't running. Perhaps, 'scurrying' might be the better descriptive because, when the city has become bizarrely silent, the streets occupied not by cars, vans and taxis but, rather, by abandoned

Monday night

Sweating palms The sensation of frustration had been increasing all morning and, for Frank Smythe, it was not so much the fact of it but, more, the force of the sentiment, its uncertain origin and the situation that, essentially, he could do nothing about it. His awkwardness must have shown when, riding the elevator up to the 'Accounting'

Sunday night

Silence of the heart Greg Patterson sat immobile on the plush couch of his apartment living room. His eyes were directed at the large, modern television screen but he was not watching the force-fed stream of inane triviality that replayed there. He was, instead, trying with little success to mentally control the waves of nausea that kept

Saturday night

Club 41 on King Street West Beside me, Monica sighed with sufficient emphasis to get my attention and, then, when I turned toward her, she spoke. “I can't believe this is happening.” She was clearly distressed and looked around bewildered. “I know,” I acknowledged and finished my drink. I studied the empty glass

Friday night

Satin on skin Samantha was finding it difficult to disentangle her own thoughts and feelings. She was acutely aware of her own image in the bathroom mirror and, there, reflected back, was a lean, attractive woman in her late thirties with long, dark hair falling, limp and heavy with moisture, past her shoulders. Aside from that, it was the


Coming into being The door exploded inward to the sound of rupturing wood and torn hinges. “Police! Throw down your weapons! Get down on the floor! Get down now! I moved in line behind the point men whose vests, close in front of my face, read, 'TACTICAL UNIT'. My movements were sluggish, the vest and and padding inhibiting me and