Bad Traditions

I had already killed three when I read the prompt “Bad Traditions” and thought of submitting. It seemed appropriate that I should consider myself a follower of bad traditions rather than a serial killer. Indeed, bad traditions had been responsible for a lot of my criminal development. First off, my family had bad traditions. One was called my father and he was a Marxist and a political fanatic. The second bad tradition was my sister and she was a global feminist with very bad traditions – one being to write boring academic texts about famous nineteenth-century women writers. There were many other bad traditions in my family. For instance, regular holidays to Dublin and to St. Malo, so regular that their repetitive nature became a major pain in the ass. Drinking too much beer was a bad tradition I must hang round my own neck like a frothy, mad albatross.
And it was this last-mentioned tradition that got me killing the fourth.
It was a summer night and I made for a couple humping in the sand dunes up above the nudist stretch of the Ostia beach outside Rome. It was nine-thirty and I possessed two long, pretty sharp blades. Why two? Well, I wanted a fourth and a fifth. As luck would have it, he thumped me on the head and ran away…but only after twisting off her, seeing her dying there under the Italian moonshine, pushing himself inside his downed trunks, and moaning off. That knock on the head led to other bad stuff, traditions, really, like the self-confessional writing up of murders I’m doing now.
As I watched that bastard who’d hit me and avoided the second blade running or scampering away from me, blubbering and wailing, I knew I’d made a big mistake. The bad tradition had been broken and he’d got away.
I’m sure there will come a knock at my door one of these days. They’ll come and want to know what I was doing on those Ostia sands, why a girl was found dead, why a panicked guy had turned up at the carabinieris, blabbing about a maniac with two blades, slicing down on his naked bird. It’ll happen….that other bad tradition that gets killers caught.

By Jonathan Finch
Website: https://www.amazon.com/author/finchjf
Twitter: JonathanFinch12
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/writereflect123go/?ref=bookmarks 

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As I remember it...

“Girl, you better wipe the dirty drool off your face,” Mad says to the baby before leaving. The baby begins to cry.

“Girl, you better wipe the dirty drool off your face,” she laughs at the baby before leaving.

“Girl, you better wipe the dirty drool off your face,” she yells at the baby before leaving.

“Girl, you better wipe the dirty drool off your face,” she shakes the baby before leaving.

“Girl, you better wipe the dirty drool off your face,” she punches the baby before leaving.

“Girl, you better wipe the dirty drool off your face,” she sets the baby on fire before leaving.

“Girl, you better wipe the dirty drool off your face,” she blows up the baby before leaving.

By Cristina WilCraft

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You're Good Enough

Introduction by Writer: A Lover's Conversation

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“Tell me something I don’t know”, he said as I was snuggled up against him in the bedroom dark.

“If humans were killed at the rate we actually kill animals we’d be extinct in 17 years.”

“Wait what,” he chuckled.

“Fine, I’m not really sure if the poster said 17 years or 17 days,” I replied as I kissed the base of his throat.

“I meant about you.”

“Oh-”

A pregnant silence fell in between us for a long minute.

I could hear him resume his sleeping breathing pattern.

“Hey,” I called out before he could go back into nirvana.

By Deluxe Culture

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Fuzz

 Introducing 'Fuzz', a cute little rhyming tale of the life of a piece of fuzz. Written by Author Crystal Wenger who has previously published the funny, unique rhyming children's picture book Animiximals and who has many more to come!

———— 

...washing machine and boy all the bubbles sure do get him clean. 

He sleeps in pockets, dressers and drawers, floats on the breeze and sweeps across floors. 

He often hides under the bed, and there he finds all his fuzzy fuzz friends. He makes his way from room to room but must take care to avoid the vacuum!

His favorite place to be is outside, when he hangs on the clothes on the clothes hanging line.

He's always being blown away, picked out of toes, dropped on the floor or sneezed out a nose.

He likes floating on the breeze or relaxing on pillows is very comfy, that's one of his favorite places to be. 

Being a fuzz is a dream come...

By Crystal Wenger

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Higher Beings

By Callum Wallace

 

...Paul shook his. “I don’t understand. Why do you have to destroy me at all? I don’t think I like that idea.”


The spokes-alien gave a shrug of his tiny shoulders. “It’s quite safe. Imagine a two dimensional line. Take that line to your dimension, the third. It only ceases to exist in the sense that it is no longer two dimensional. If you think about it, it now exists even more! As a third dimensional shape, of course.”

The third alien piped up helpfully. “A rectangular prism.” This earned him a bony elbow to skinny ribs.

Bhob continued. “Yes, thank you Lendi.” He turned back to Paul, regarding him with over-large eyes. “In this way, so too must you be destroyed, and reborn as a fourth dimensional being.”

“Like you?”

The being smiled its beaked smile again. “Yes, like us.”

He raised his arms, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, like a vicar before a sermon.
Before he could speak, however, Paul interrupted. “Excuse, me sorry, one more thing. If you’re...

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4am

She works late. She works later. She works latest.

It’s always work. It’s always friends. It’s always family.

I have to go here. I have to go there. I have to go everywhere.

It felt like a lie, but I trust her. It felt strange like last time. It’s another lie.

She’s at work. She’s at the store? She’s in someone’s car?

That’s a coworker. That’s a family member? It’s a friend, isn’t it?

Work day ends early. Guess hers did too. Guess his did too.

35 years happily. 1 year confused. 36 years thrown away.

 

By Rupert Windsor

 

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Bladder Up

"A true horror story about the aging process that will never be told anywhere else."

A few years ago I was working in a career that is highly physical, requiring heavy lifting and a lot of walking and standing. During this time I was also enjoying regular Brazilian Waxes. Ahhhhhhh..They are fantastic and worth the reasonable, quick pain, and embarrassment. I got busy and missed one or two, therefore, I was shaving what I could reach and attempted to shave "down under" if you know what I mean.

 

With one foot on the toilet, a mirror in one hand, the razor in the other, I began to attempt this difficult task. Honing the mirror into the correct position, my hoo haw "down under" was in full, plain view. We have all looked at our hoo haws before (don't you deny it) so I knew something was wrong. Very wrong. I took a closer look and gasped out loud. I may even have cussed. What I saw put me in mild shock. There was a creamy white, pink veined, "ball" right inside my...

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