The 1Mortimers

Would you erase your memory?

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Mr Semile walked across the busy street with an errant confidence which portrayed a man who had accomplished all that he had wished to accomplish. His briskly measured strides and a prim, upturned nose gave him the appearance of a hawk only to be accentuated by his crisp black suit. He ignored the oncoming traffic with the nonchalance of a Traffic Inspector and waved away the exasperated honks of the interrupted. He took out the grey, metallic card from his breast-pocket and glanced at it. This was indeed the appropriate street and the appropriate time. Whatever doubt he may have had in his mind was dispersed by the glass plate over one of the lobby doors, on which were written the cryptic words – “Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit”. Mr Semile promptly proceeded to push the red button on the door and waited as he had been instructed.

“Welcome to 1Mortimers…

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The Clockwork Demon by Lee Russell

The Machinery - A literary collection.

Illustration by Stephen Pikarsky Illustration by Stephen Pikarsky

Garrick Mayflower was the only man sliding down the alley that summer’s evening; his shadow the only moving thing. He had a bit of Western blood in him, so his skin was a juicy orange-brown the colour of tanned hide that never failed to prompt a raised eye from his full-Orient neighbours. The sun stared, half-dead, with a bloodshot eye that flooded the cream beige walls of the city with vermillion highlights spilling into the slanting brick roads between them.

Approaching the buildings to his left, he appeared within the shadows beneath the eaves; eyes glowing almost as much as his silhouette had been, half-shut. He stopped, and sniffed.

Makal’s Trinkets: Bags, bugs or bargains? Whatever you are looking for, you shall find in here! Note: No haggling with the shopkeeper.

The words were traced with unnecessary serifs; drafted in gaudy pink on a miniature blackboard…

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Signs of Life

Karen Lee Kleis

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I don’t always find her. And the where of her is unpredictable. On those occasions when I don’t find her, I never know whether it’s her choice to remain hidden or whether she has simply abandoned certain places, finding them unsuitable in some way. The first time I found her always comes to mind with the kind of clarity attaching to events that reshape our lives in some fundamental way, as if the experience is permanently housed in its own moment of brilliant light where every little detail is illuminated. It was like that.

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Distress

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The Phantom Rem

I can hear crying, I can’t tell what is crying, I can barely hear it. I realize I am in a stairwell, a dark and winding stairwell made of stone. I cant decide if I should be going up or down the stairs, but something is telling me to get to the crying, and quickly. It seems to be fading and I know that time is of the essence. I’m looking all around me to try to find a clue or a hint telling me where I am or if I should be going up or down. The entire stairwell is made of stone, no railing of any sort and parts of the steps are crumbling on the stairs. There are no windows or any openings along the walls, and no lighting other than some flickering from a candle right around the corner above me. I take that as my…

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Dirt

Intriguing story by Sean Patrick Whiteley reblogged from seanpatrickwhiteley.wordpress.com

seanpatrickwhiteley

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Mrs. Tooms was in her garden, tending to her winter flowers, when inside the house, the phone rang. She creaked and cracked as she stood, her bones older than she remembered. She stumbled into her home, trailing dirt through her kitchen and foyer, and yanked the phone from its cradle.

‘Hello, hello,’ she chirped, breathing heavily from her rushing.

‘Mrs. Tooms?’ asked a raspy monotone.

‘Yes, who’s this?’

‘You may not remember me. It’s been over fifteen years. My name is Benjamin Sidley. I’m head caretaker down at Pine Banks Cemetery.’

‘I don’t,’ answered Mrs. Tooms. ‘Remember you, that is.’

‘Well, that’s of no matter.’

‘Why are you calling?’ Mrs. Tooms was eager to return to her flowers.

‘Unfortunately, my reason for calling is to deliver some bad news.’

Mrs. Tooms waited.

‘It is with a heavy heart that I tell you that your husband’s grave has been desecrated…’

Mrs…

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The invisible man

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Digging deep into the archives of Jac Forsyth’s blog The Perilous Reading Society I found this beautiful little story.

The Perilous Reading Society

Some of them had fallen into the radioactive vats, some had been pushed and some, like Finn, had been born into them.

No one had ever really counted how many there were.  By their nature it was hard to tell them apart, and one became another all too easily.  But everyone knew that they were there, and everyone knew what they were.

And it wasn’t like they could turn transparent or anything.  They just had this knack of becoming part of the backdrop.  Finn once said it was more like natural camouflage than anything else.  Sure, they bore the toxic aftermath on their flesh, but it was in the minds of the Noticeable People that the real magic happened.  A dark enchantment seemed to possess them, and it erased the Invisible from the picture book of their thoughts quicker than changing channels on a TV.

His hair was dark, like…

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Violation

I can proudly pronounce that my blog has been of important inspiration to this amazingly morbid piece of art.

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wolf mate Photo: Diane Picard/Shutterstock – found at Mother Nature Network (MNN)

Yesterday, I wrote a short story called The Wolf’s Mate, a werewolf tale that’s actually a romance. Gwen is married to Larry and is pregnant. Larry is also a werewolf who even recognizes his “mate’s” scent while he is the wolf.

I started thinking of different ways to spin the story, and the night Gwen Talbot becomes pregnant sprang to life. I want to warn you right now this story contains some significantly “adult” content, so if you aren’t okay with that, stop reading now.

I’m also considering writing a story about their romance, how they met, fell in love, his proposal of marriage, and upon Gwen’s acceptance, Larry’s revealing his secret to her and how, amazingly, that resulted in them getting married, even in the face of the curse of the wolf.

I just wanted to let you…

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Entity

Refreshingly dark piece written by and reblogged from Grim’s Crypt.

Grim's Crypt

It started happening the beginning of one week during the middle of the night when you’d find me typing away on my laptop. The knocking noises weren’t loud, but in the middle of the night there was dead silence so the noise appeared louder than what they really were. For a while, I would chalk it up to my neighbors’ headboard banging against the wall while having sex or the pipes in this old apartment building talking. I’d just ignore it and finish writing whatever story I was working on at the time.

One night that week, I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Not only were there the knocking sounds, but scratching noises had accompanied it as well. I remember looking behind me and seeing nothing but the white plastered walls that surrounded me. What was weird was the noises had stopped as soon as I looked, but resumed once…

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One Final Thing

A story by Bobby Stevenson. Enjoy.

Bobby Stevenson

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It was as Thing got near to the end of his time in this world, that all the confusion seemed to melt away. Sure, old age never arrived on its own (as his mother used to say). He had found it a little harder to climb and descend the mountain-side, and Thing found sleeping didn’t come as easy as it once had. His eyes were a little less sharp and his hearing failed to notice the sweet chirping of the morning birds.
 
Yet he was luckier than many. Despite his troubles, he had three things: he had always had someone as a friend, and a roof above his head, and always had food to eat. These three items should never be taken for granted, and Thing had never, ever, thought like that.
 
Thing had seen great changes in his lifetime. Folks of his type were now welcomed in…

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Bee Drones

Great little story written by James, reblogged from Powered by Robots.

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robobee © Eijiro Miyako

It had been forty years since Eijiro Miyako and his colleagues at Japan’s National Institute of Advanced Science and Technology developed the first generation robo-bees. Pesticides, land clearing, and the effects of climate change had resulted in a steady decline in the bee population. Without bees, many plant species, including crop plants from apples to almonds, could not be pollinated and reproduce.

By the tenth generation of the tiny drones, they were self-replicating, self-repairing, solar-powered dynamos. They did not replace the natural bee population, but they greatly enhanced pollination efforts, allowing flowering plants to survive and finally to thrive again.

Each individual robo-bee’s AI formed a collection of nodes, which, when linked to the population of drones as a whole, formed an intelligence that was arguably sentient.

The problem was finding a way for the natural bee population to either develop an immunity to what was killing them…

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