Writing in Style.
by
Angharad.

I was a calligrapher, I did the fancy writing on things when they didn't want it done by machine, anything from wedding lists and labels to certificates for all sorts, including politicians, when they'd been granted the freedom of the town centre and that sort of thing. I wasn't particularly well paid because you can do it with a computer but when they wanted something special I was the go-to for it in our town.

Trixed
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Todd

Todd was a sexual predator but probably would have considered himself the complete opposite of that. He might well have styled himself as prey – bait to tempt the cougars. He cultivated that image. He was not aggressive in picking up women. He was not physically imposing so he had found a style which he prided himself made him irresistible to women. He was charming and polite and almost innocent – the kind of young man a woman would like to take home.

My name is P James O’Neill. If anyone asks what the P is for I tell them to mind their own business. Because of a few generations ago Irish ancestry my parents lumbered me with the name Patsy, not Patrick, Paddy, or even Pat, but Patsy. All through school and college that had caused me no end of problems, Most of my classmates deliberately called me Patsy to annoy or bully me, even though they were corrected time and time again, and I lost count of the number of times that I was made to associate with or sit with the girls, as the boys either ridiculed or ignored me.

I thought that when I left college that I would be free of all that nonsense and that the name PJ O’Neill had quite a cool professional ring to it. When I was drafted however the US army however had a totally different agenda for me.

Saved by the Bell
-2-
Dead man Walking

“BELL! JONES!” A loud voice seemed to boom. The voice belonged to Mr. Coalfield. A brute of a man, Mr. Coalfield or Coach Coalfield as everybody in school called him was the boy's P.E Instructor and the head coach of the Benton Academy football program. His skin was brown as leather and his neck reminded of the shank bone of a ham. And his hands were thick like hot dogs.

Chapter 3

I also found out that the drama group I had seen today was mainly made up of lower-level employees of several embassies, as a relief valve to lower their stress. She told me that Vlad wasn’t overtly linked to the Russians, but he had a lot of friends from all around the Soviet Bloc. It was said that he was an advisor to Todor Zhivkov, the leader of the Communist Party, and had carried that connection through to Lyudmila, pushing the culture and arts to the forefront.

Saved by the Bell
-1-
His name was James Donald Bell

It's a common misconception that Benton Academy is the cradle for the Episcopal and Methodist bourgeoisie of Benton. In fact it's nothing more than a really redneck school. And the only way my mom and dad can afford to send me here is that my grandmother is footing the bill. My grandmother wants me to get the best education possible in this small town. She wants me to make something of my life.

I remembered the night she threw me out. I had worn her sexiest underwear. She hadn’t worn it for years, so one of us may as well use it. I was half way through clipping my stockings to my suspenders when she came in. I thought she would be out seeing her friend until 10.30 at least.

“I bloody knew it, you little queer. You couldn’t leave it alone could you? Well, you can bugger off. I want a real man.”

The Flower Story
By Sabrina G. Langton

***

Chapter 2

Adrianne advised me that I should look my best when I went to see Helen. I didn’t take much urging. Since leaving the hospital I had been trying to be the best Babs around. I had spent a bit of my savings on clothes and shoes. All that time on courses with all food and shelter provided had given me a good bank account. My outfit was smart, yet sexy. Four-inch heels, smoky hose, tight skirt, and a silk blouse that showed my cleavage, and a bit more.

The Cruise
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

-9-
The Harvest Moon

My shift in the dunking booth had come to an end. The Sun was now setting over the gable roofs of Iskay Village. The cobblestone square had fallen quite. I thought like most folk festivals there would be a dance at the end. I was wrong, there was no dance. The villagers simply retreated inside to the warmth of their houses.

The Prodigal

My name is George, something you may think was not unusual. When I tell you that my older brother is also called George, as is my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, you can guess that I come from a long and wealthy family.

-8-
Dunk the Maiden (Part 2)

I quickly found myself soaked to the bone. My once perfectly styled hair had become a tangle web of loose strands. I felt myself starting to shiver a little. The fire had almost gone out in me. The crowd in front of me was starting to ease up a bit and I was glad. I thought maybe I could catch a little break. But then Wyatt came up to me and started to whisper harshly toward me.

Why did Commander Jvuznart always make him do the worst jobs, like replacing xenobiological specimens? It wasn’t his fault that Doctor Gralpuxt’s specimens expired. They should have had a failsafe on the specimen holding environmental controls. It wasn’t like he killed them on purpose when he shut off the lights along with the atmosphere generator and temperature controls, was it? These new specimens from the 3rd planet were so soft and needed just the right temperature and gas mix to live. Sheesh, how did they survive to make it this far? They were even fouling their own nest; give them another few hundred cycles, if that long, and they wouldn’t even be around, he was sure.

Alienation
by Bryony Marsh

March 2023 story contest entry on the theme of abduction. After many years, an old friend arrives with a strange tale to tell. An engine that dies on a lonely stretch of road; a brilliant beam of light from above; being kidnapped and experimented upon by those of another species... with a transgender twist, of course!

Roadside Encounter
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

She was she, at least for the day. It was never more than a day, and usually a Sunday. She would go to bed as her and in the morning, she would face the week as a man, and just dream about next Sunday. But on that fine day she drove for an hour just to be her in public for 3 or 4 hours, and then was driving home, with a bright new dress and some other things on the passenger seat.

Haida awakens from her dreams to a nightmare.

The Font

The internet is a wonderful thing, a veritable Font of Knowledge. It can give you hope, it can give you grief, it can inform you and dis-inform you with equal ease. I was born after it became used world-wide, and I never knew a time without it. I also had to bear the name picked out for me, whether I was a boy or a girl, I would be called Nimbus. They had decided that I would be their halo of light, blended with a flying broomstick. They had read the Harry Potter books several times.

Joe’s Woman
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Joe surveyed his claim with some pride in the early evening light, the red earth of Western Australia made even more red by the final rays of the sun. The portable building they had lived in was still flattened on the slight rise facing Treasure Hill, but the screening plant and loader were now back to full operation after the dust storm of the previous month.

Some people announce the arrival of their powers to the whole town... by exploding into little pink bits that go everywhere!