Fiction Circular 12/19/20

A weekly dispatch of creative writing from around the web by Kaiter Enless.

From Ceres Eithne: Alongside Fear. A woman, failing to find comfort in therapy and medication, grapples with her increasingly disturbing psychological malaise.

“She had a nightmare last night: a horrifying one that carried small bits of the occurrences she had buried deep down in her heart…”

From Danika’s Memory Box: Dinner. A series of sentimental letters weave a patchwork tale of one man’s dark ruminations.

“I’ve heard rumors that she still loves me. Rumors, rumors, rumors… I don’t know what is true anymore. If she loved me, if she truly loved me then why would she do this? I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t…”

From Elizabeth Fiction Writing: The Man On The Train. A unlikely meeting on a train prompts a woman to recall her musical childhood.

 “The memory faded as soon as we were out of the tunnel and I could once again see everything around me. I shook my head as if it would help me clear my thoughts. Surely, the man on the train couldn’t be the same person?”

From Fiction Is Food: Elysium by Gary Jefferies. Two travelers brave a wild land in which a monstrous beast is said to lurk.

“I can see a sorcerers haze where the tracks end. I think it’s Elder Magic, maybe a portal.”

From Fictive Dream: A Meeting in Fitzrovia by Mike Fox. An aspiring writer seeks the advice of a talented poet in a crowded pub.

“The craftsmanship of his generation could speak of an artist’s sensibility, a fact recognised by a number of authors, who took the trouble to write and thank him when the first pristine copies of a book arrived to reward their long hours of effort.”

From Kyro Books: The Carnival by K. T. Rose. A homeless musician’s fortunes change when he encounters a mysterious masked man.

“But what is joy? So dead and coy Just ask this man Who’s still a boy”

From Richard R. Becker: Might As Well Jump. A taciturn boy’s bicycle ride takes a unexpected turn, presaging a series of dire events.

“‘Liam, come quick!’ she hollered. ‘The President’s been shot.'”

From The Inkwell: North Pole by Matthew Donnellon. A humorous Christmas fantasy, reminiscent of the 1964 claymation made-for-TV movie Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

“The air in the makeshift snow cave was only slightly warmer than the air outside. Luckily, our Elvish DNA kept us from freezing but just barely.”


Fiction Circular 8/1/20

A weekly dissemination of fiction writing from around the web by Kaiter Enless.

From Caliath: Notes on the Creative Corpse by Joao-Maria (a poem concerning the creative process).

To dispetal the cosmos and the cosmos, place those steatic specs upon the unreeling…

J.M., Notes on the Creative Corpse

From Cyberwave: Coloring For Karen (a scifi short story).

With a wave of his hand the boy produced magnificent shapes and formed islands out of the empty ocean while standing on the cliff. His eyes were closed but he knew he didn’t need them. He used his imagination without bounds, and without the influence of external stimuli.

– Cyberwave, Coloring For Karen

From Jan Christensen: Sad Victory (a mystery short story).

“Of course I’m okay.” Her mouth twisted around the slang word disagreeably.

– J. Christensen, Sad Victory

From Horror Tree: Pale Horse by Lynn Love (a tale concerning a man who may or may not be crazy hears a voice that may or may not be there).

‘That ain’t no wind,’ he says. ‘There’s a voice. Can’t you hear it?’

– L. Love, Pale Horse

From The Chronicles of History: Beyond The Trees by Samantha James (a short story of the fantastique).

A young orphaned girl flees her home one afternoon and finds herself lost in a big scary forest. The child becomes injured but is assisted by an unlikely companion that claims to know the way to the girl’s home at the abbey. Not all is as it seems …

– S. James, synopsis

Fiction Circular 7/25/20

A weekly dissemination of fiction writing from around the web by Kaiter Enless

From Little Tales For Busy Folks: The Corridor by Vic Smith. A subterranean adventure takes a unnerving turn. Would be aided by more character development.

I was convinced there was something down here with me. I could hear breathing. I couldn’t tell how far away it was, or where the sound was coming from, but I was sure it was there

– V. Smith, The Corridor

From New Pop Lit: Zeenith, a fiction and poetry collection featuring Brian Eckert, Mark Marchenko, Holly Day, Chrissi Sepe, Kathleen M. Crane, Robert Kaercher, Erin Knowles Chapman, and James Croal Jackson. The volume is available for purchase for $25 via Paypal, or credit-card.

Full color. State of the art. Hand crafted. Sleek and stylish.

– Promotional tag-line for Zeenith

From Scraps & Scribblings: Goodnight, Sweet Prince by Richard Tearle. Macabre historical fiction. Seems a fragment of a larger work.

 George has gone too far. You can see that, surely? He has taken the law into his own hands – my law, let it be noted.

– R. Tearle, Goodnight, Sweet Prince

From Short Stories Online: Progressive Jackpot by Shane Lambert. A raffle takes place at a bowling league. Instead of telling by showing action the author simply lists off what occurs, week by week, which makes the story read, unfortunately, like a news article.

Almost all of the other Beer Leaguers had their own minor-league fantasies about what they would do if they won the money. One lady wanted to be a bar star for a weekend at a local country club. Another guy wanted to place a bet on the Edmonton Oilers winning the Stanley Cup. Another simply would have bought a new RCA television.

– Shane Lambert, Progressive Jackpot

From T. W. Iain: Ghost. A chronicle of a daring thief’s plan. At first, I assumed it was going to be one of those insufferably drippy slice-of-life flash-shorts which forms the great bulk of what is redundantly referred to as ‘literary fiction;’ thankfully, my assumption was incorrect. The piece develops its two principal characters impressively well with so few words and builds to a surprising, bittersweet crescendo.

The casket was closed, of course. She’d refused any suggestion of surgery.

– T. W. Iain, Ghost

From Vastness: Discount Baby by H. W. Taylor. A speculative sci-fi tale concerning a future wherein certain classes are prohibited from childbirth, a situation which prompts a enterprising and childless couple to attempt to trick the system. A superb work, which, in the most positive of ways, reminded me, faintly, of Andrew Niccol’s Gattaca.

Best of the week.

She was protecting him, by letting him give her hope.

– H. W. Taylor, Discount Baby

Warm-up Exercises

by John Grey

When lovers argue 

the air gets it in the neck 

dreams are full of such crackling currency 

but when I awake I can’t spend any of it 

lost love is like eating alone 

in a restaurant 

sipping the last of the wine 

while fish bones stare up at you 

a statue is the last stop 

on a long journey of made-up stuff – 

this figure in marble 

bears as much resemblance 

to real flesh and bone 

as a cushion does to a razor 

there are no more stage villains – 

nobody wears top hat and tails, 

flicks their moustache 

while tying women to railway tracks – 

these days, it’s tee shirt and shorts, 

a day’s growth around the chin 

and a back of the hand 

slapped hard against a woman’s cheekbone – 

ah, Snidely Whiplash, 

at least, the boos rained down on you 

river’s frozen, 

roads aren’t plowed, 

can’t get out my front door 

for the drifts – 

War and Peace 

this could be the day 

of Chapter One Page One 

I must have loved 

a thousand women 

and I ended up with one – 

there are some instances 

where math need not apply 

there’s an article here 

about this guy who found his wife in bed 

with another man – 

he divorced the wife 

and married the man – 

and then it’s on to the latest peace talks 

for more irony 

1 made a few phone calls 

sent emails 

even wrote a letter 

but it’s the same old same old – 

you still can’t go home again 

my fingers look up from the keyboard 

ask then why have you brought me here.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Examined Life Journal, Studio One and Columbia Review, with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.

Upon Your Arrival & Beyond

by John Grey

The people of America 

go crazy – 

from fishing folk of the Maine coast 

to the California 

surfing crowd – 

a baby emerges from a deaf-mute’s womb 

and it’s still not promiscuous 

or willing to kill for a living. 

It is watched over by old names 

and new slatterns. 

Character is born 

just like that baby 

but with its own blood spilled, 

not the mothers’. 

Being bathed continually in filth helps. 

Job or first love – 

numbing terror is not the same as emotion 

until it is. 

Sadly, a woman being choked 

to death by the rough hands 

of a stranger 

cannot answer your twenty questions – 

luckily, the default in every case 

is “false.” 

And then there’s marriage, 

a rash dash 

and without cash – 

three children are raised 

by the state – 

on a cross to be crucified 

as it so happens. 

So a house in the suburbs it is – 

but what about the hundred foot giant 

trudging through the neighborhood 

planting the seeds of strip malls?

A water-pipe bursts – 

the truth emerges – 

rats too can drown – 

they’re just not in it for the water sports. 

Everyone is ungainly at ocean’s edge. 

You toddle like you’re ten thousand pounds overweight. 

Fat red flesh predominates. 

You’re prisoner of the economic climate. 

If the deal falls through, 

you can always go back to bathing in filth. 

The mind fantasizes 

over hedge fund managers 

in a great Wall Street extravaganza 

that’s been sent to destroy you. 

It is only in secluded places, 

far from the trained eye of the television camera, 

where anything of sense is being said. 

And there’s nobody 

to speak up – 

and, to make things worse – 

the car’s not an automatic – 

at no time in your life 

were you instructed 

how to drive a manual. 

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Examined Life Journal, Studio One and Columbia Review, with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.

Where I Live Now

by John Grey

I’m trying to figure 

what it is about this house – 

egg yolk sinks 

into a ketchup frieze – 

squashed ants line the sink, 

empty bottles vie with the half-full – 

I live between a thankless television 

and the doorbell – 

I sleep on an old couch 

with half the flesh torn out – 

wallpaper’s ratty – 

spit has congealed – 

excuse my appearance – 

I was up all night, expecting guests.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Examined Life Journal, Studio One and Columbia Review, with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.

The Silence & The Howl, and, Tatter, now available from Gumroad

The novellas THE SILENCE & THE HOWL (2020) and, TATTER (2020) by Kaiter Enless are now available from Gumroad in EPUB formats.

Previously, Logos Literature ebooks were available exclusively to our Patreon patrons, but, understandably, not everyone will want to support on a continual basis; and so, for those who wish to purchase our ebooks directly, Gumroad will now be the place to do so.

Tatter (a novella)

TATTER (2020), the complete novella (EPUB) by Kaiter Enless is now available from Gumroad and Patreon.

Synopsis: In the vast, mechanized city of Aecer, a courier’s life is forever changed when he encounters an enigmatic woman pursued by malevolent forces.

Format: E-book (epub). Genre: Science fiction. Size: 58.5 KB.

A sequel, KRYOS, is forthcoming.

The Maker

He was a creator of talent rare, whose works earned great reknown,

and jealousy in equal measure, from those much lower down.

He labored beneath a city vast, ruled by lust and grift and gun,

where much work was accomplished, to ensure little else was done.

Shortly, a savage band assembled, around the maker’s domain,

with precious little consistency, official concern was feigned.

“His wonders he shares not yet enough, and so unto the flame,

his worldly arts and life, to avenge the affliction of our shame.”

Loosed from the throng were feral cries, as the fire ate all away,

“The villain was at long last dead, the people have won the day!”

Yet months after that fateful encounter, without the maker’s sway,

confidence in the system’s operation began a sure decay.

Despondent, a former acolyte of the creator, sat a lonesome bar,

and drank in mournful silence, and dreamed of faring far.

There in the corner he spied, suddenly, a odd man, robed and pale,

who seemed somewise familiar, and so he gave him hail.

The stranger raised his head, and to the drinker’s great surprise,

found none other than the maker—xanthous luster in his eyes.

“Tell me, man, what are you, that could escape that fiery suit?”

The maker turned to the souse and answered: “I am absolute.”

Tatter: Chapter 36

Previous chapter

Vangr apprehensively stood the center of the old theatre and watched the chartreuse man tinker with the mannequin upon the wide and dusty stage, crimson curtains hanging above like clouds of blood.

“Just you and me now, Mr. Vangr,” the tinkerer declared with vague amusement, without turning from his labors.

Vangr shifted from foot to foot upon the mildewed and heavily carpeted flooring. He didn’t like the place. The dead-eyed dolls. The hideous masques that leered from the walls. The make-up tins and wigs and corsets. The whole of the establishment, a temple to deception.

“We need to talk.

“We’re talking now.”

“About what I’m owed.”

“How fortunate Grazen and Moreno died before the curtain’s fall.”


“Because now there is no intermediary between you and The Federation, but me. And so, if I were to tell them, no, no, it wasn’t he that bungled it. No, no, it wasn’t his incompetence which allowed the specimen to get away. It was Grazen and Moreno’s orders… well, who is to say otherwise?”

“And you’d do this for me because?”

“Because, like you, I never cared for The Federation’s politics, or Aestival’s theology. Every oath of loyalty, a fetter. Every system, a cage.”

“Kryos once told me: ‘There are some cages it is better to be inside of than without.'”

“He’s right of course. That’s how he’s survived this long. But we have different priorities…”

“And what are those priorities, exactly? If you don’t care about Aestival, or The Federation, why do any of this?”

“Every belief in the future as it would be discloses all alternative futures in the process. I simply wish to widen the scope of possibilities.”

The chartreuse man snapped the mannequin’s head on with a resounding clatter and turned to Vangr with a wide, rictus smile. The mannequin turned in tandem and, likewise, smiled.

Next chapter