Jan Hates 2024 by Judith Skilleter, whisky and ginger wine
CafeLitMagazine
by Gill James
16h ago
Jan is hating this year and especially this time of this year. She has a sports-mad husband and four sports-mad sons. Oh, to have had a daughter with whom she could go shopping and discuss fashion and make-up and hairstyles and fiction and all sorts. Oh, to wash dainty feminine things instead of having the washing machine going every day with mud stained, torn and soaking sports gear. Experience has taught her not to believe the washing detergent adverts on TV. They lie, she reckons. There are sports stains that never come out. It is the same with dishwasher tablets, after five hungry males ha ..read more
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Sunday Serial: 240 x 70 25. The Men in Red 13 January 2019 by Gill James, ruby wine
CafeLitMagazine
by Gill James
2d ago
 Introduction This collection is a collection of seventy stories, each 240 words. They were inspired by the first picture seen on my Twitter feed on a given day.  25. The Men in Red 13 January 2019   The great door swung open at last and he was allowed in. Their red robes, made of thick woven wool, were finer that he'd ever imagined. The men in the front row were kneeling and had their arms crossed over their chests. They all wore masks. Now he could recognise no individual. A man wearing a slightly different mask held up his hand up in greeting. "Welcome Jason of Wellingto ..read more
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Saturday Sample: And I Said, by Linda Morse, a nice cup of tea
CafeLitMagazine
by Gill James
3d ago
  CONNIE First performed by Jan Wyld at Salisbury and Exeter Fringe Festivals and at the Drayton Arms in Kensington in 2012 and 2013.   It was recorded for Soundwork-uk.co.uk in 2017 and published by Oxford Flash Fiction in 2021.   Nursing Home.  Connie, a very elderly lady, sits in bed. She can neither communicate nor move. The monologue is taking place in her head. (Connie sits up normally and speaks initially as if to a Care Assistant)                      &nb ..read more
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Simon Hope by Jim Bates, Arnie Palmer
CafeLitMagazine
by Gill James
4d ago
My assistant, Jan Walkin, knocked on the door, took three steps across the floor, and dropped a sheet of paper on my desk. “Here’s the report, Simon.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Such as it is.”             I turned to her from staring out the second-floor window of the office I rented. “Such as it is?” I asked. “That’s a helluva thing to say.”             Jan puffed up to the full height of her four-foot-ten-inch frame and said, “It’s a helluva business you’ve got going here, Si ..read more
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One of our Novices is Missing by Maxine Flam, wine
CafeLitMagazine
by Gill James
6d ago
  ‘Hey Joe, you think Shelly came in early and she made us a pot of coffee, huh?’ said Kelby as they dragged into the squad room.             ‘I certainly hope so. I can use some fresh hot coffee after that mud we’ve been drinking on that stakeout but there are three other things I want more: A long hot shower, a large breakfast with eggs, potatoes, bacon, and toast, and a warm bed to sleep in for at least twelve hours,’ replied Miller.             Overhearing the boys talking, Ca ..read more
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Lets Get Young Again by Henry Lewi, glass of champagne
CafeLitMagazine
by Gill James
1w ago
He’d had a long career in Medicine and Molecular Biology. After graduating he’d specialised in Obstetrics and Gynaecology where he’d focused on the ageing process in the Female Reproductive System; and had, as they said, proceeded to a PhD with a Thesis titled ‘Mitochondrial DNA Strand Fragmentation In The Ovarian Stroma’.   For many years he’d split his time between his Gynaecology Practice and the nearby MRC Molecular Biology Research Laboratory, as he continued to explore the ageing process in females.     His basic thesis was that Ovarian DNA Fragmentation due to advancing ..read more
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Sunday Serial: 240 x 70 24 Old Bones 12 January, old wine
CafeLitMagazine
by Gill James
1w ago
Introduction This collection is a collection of seventy stories, each 240 words. They were inspired by the first picture seen on my Twitter feed on a given day.   It came to us all. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust etc.  Amazing though. You could see where the eyes would have been. This one still had all his teeth. He assumed it was a man's skull, though he couldn't say why. There was a hole where the nose would have been. He remembered seeing other remains without life.  All of those old graves in old churchyards the Republic of Ireland. You could look right into them and see the s ..read more
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Saturday Sample: Matters of Life and Death by Philip Stuckey, whisky on the rocks
CafeLitMagazine
by Gill James
1w ago
  Witch in a bottle  ‘In your own time, sir, and please, stick to the facts.’ ‘The facts?’ I am required to provide a statement for the young police officer who sits before me now, poised with notepad and pencil in hand. But how am I to account for events I cannot begin to understand? And yet, account for them I must, and then make peace with God. But as to the facts of this matter, I am no more reliable than the village cat. ‘Yes, Reverend, we are here to establish facts. We are not interested in conjecture, embellishments or justifications…so when you’re ready, please begin.’ It ..read more
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First Date (Geoffrey) by Peter Lingard, a bottle of Shiraz
CafeLitMagazine
by Gill James
1w ago
I wait at a table, worrying about the flowers lying on the starched covering, inconveniencing me, and using elbow space.  I remember my father’s words from long ago, ‘Take your hands off the table, Boy.  Resting them like that will weaken your core, turn you to flab in no time.’  I put my hands in my lap.  Now that I’ve overthought the situation, my hands, wrists, and arms seem like excess baggage.  It’s ridiculous. I order a bottle of wine. Might they wilt?  The flowers?  Ridiculous again.  Once I give them to Gwen, she’ll sniff them, smile, say thank y ..read more
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Penance by Edward Michael Supranowicz, espresso
CafeLitMagazine
by Gill James
1w ago
Michael went to confession every Saturday, always had. Fights, barroom brawls, lusty thoughts and deeds, even slightly angry or evil thoughts - he had confessed them all. His rosary was well-polished from use. Then, walking out of the church this Saturday, he felt the swirl and swell of petty evil from the people he passed on the street. “This is penance”, he thought. “Penance is simply walking down the street, simply breathing, simply living. Life itself is a penance for living.” But he knew he would still show up next Saturday: there might have been something he had forgotten or overlooked ..read more
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