The Perfect Dish – N.C. Brook

N.C. Brook has been writing since she was young enough to plagiarise Brothers Grimm, and add questionable illustrations to her work. Her tastes are eclectic and range from classic to gothic but always with an emphasis on strong characters and sharp learning curves. She has two stories published in the Anthology, Blue Fountain. She currently lives in Spain, but was born and raised in England and misses fish and chips and afternoon tea the most.
Twitter handle: @NyshaC

The Perfect Dish
By N.C. Brook

Chop, chop, chop. The knife sliced through meat, crunching as it reached the bone. The steel blade reflected a red glow around the dingy shed. His knives were always sharp. Blood speckled his soft hands, a single callous visible where the handle always rubbed his skin. Behind him, the battered sink held remnants of a carcass and he breathed deeply, allowing the methodical movement of cleaver against meat to calm his racing heart.

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Lake Blue Whispers – Lanie Goodell

Lanie Goodell fell into horror. After years of criminal justice and teaching experience, it seems to be a good fit. Though life as the single mom of a teenage boy provides enough real life horror, the fantastical nature of dark fiction seems to be an outlet for all the creative thoughts she has throughout the day. Check her out at and

Lake Blue Whispers
By Lanie Goodell

‘I hate you… hate you… hate you… Hate. HATE. HATE! The words crept over my skin like ants, climbed through my pores, and marched up my arteries and into my brain. I stared at the violently white wall in front of me. I hate you!

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Cockroaches – Graham Irvin

Graham Irvin is a writer from North Carolina. He has an MFA! His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Show Your Skin, Tenderness Lit, Philosophical Idiot, Instant Journal, and Really Serious Lit. Follow him on twitter: @grahamjirvin and Instagram: @trash_gram_

By Graham Irvin

Ana’s dad lived in Woodbury, New Jersey. Outside Philly. Past Richmond and all the fake rustic water towers. Past the stacked interstate overpasses and giant concrete finger pointing Godward in DC. Past the convertible in Baltimore, whose driver side door was torn off and tied back with baling twine.

Six hours from our North Carolina port town.

Ana’s grandfather was dead and turned to ash and a catholic sermon awaited. Ana said she didn’t really care. She was doing it for her dad.

I was doing it for Ana.

She’s such a good grace. An angelic beam of light.

She fed me strawberries and string cheese on the drive. Told me to open my mouth like a baby bird and poured in some cocktail of spirulina and turmeric and cold brew coffee.

All the nice things you can say about a person you have to say about Ana.

I promise.

I’ll even say them twice.

And louder too.

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The Small Town of Slate – Molly Dunn

The Small Town of Slate
By Molly Dunn

I wake up in a graveyard.

Stars pepper the night sky, the sun has long since tucked itself beneath the horizon and give way to the silvery light of the moon. Its shape is scythe-like, distorted by the thin film of grey smoke choking the air.

Bleary-eyed, I push up into a sitting position, running a hand down the aching protrusions of my spine. The uneven grave dirt has bitten into the soft flesh of my back. Smoke, rot and freshly tilled earth fill my nostrils.


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Ayn Rand’s Chainsaw – Seth Augenstein [republished]

Seth Augenstein’s fiction has appeared in Writer’s Digest, The Cracked Eye, The Molotov Cocktail, Kudzu Review, Ginosko, Squalorly, and other places. By day, he writes about crime-solving for Forensic Magazine.

This piece first appeared here on The Molotov Cocktail, a projectile for incendiary flash fiction. They can be found at or on Twitter: @MolotovLitZine. Go check them out!

Ayn Rand’s Chainsaw
By Seth Augenstein

My wife acted strangely after the second operation. She ate Big Macs, watched reality TV, and listened to smooth jazz with saxophones that howled like cats. This was disconcerting, coming from the committed vegan, film major, and punk rocker I had once married.

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