End of the Road

By Jacques Antoine, Jeanette Raleigh, Jess Mountifield, Alison Blake, Brandon Hale

Roads finish. they start someplace, too. In among, all demeanour of items ensue: friendship, betrayal, horror and even perhaps pleasure. For a few, the tip of the line brings love and happiness, for others discomfort and pain, and for a invaluable few, sorrow could lead to whatever revelatory. The potholes and pitfalls present in this anthology are many, yet for each personality, there's an finish of the road.

This street results in a set of brief tales via 25 of the main proficient writers of our time. meant for enthusiasts of brief fiction in every single place, the End of the Road is a needs to learn for an individual purpose on protecting present with the literary scene.

Contributing authors:

Brandon Hale

Robert Thomas

Saxon Andrew

James Rozoff

Anna J. McIntyre

Donna B. McNicol

Randall Morris

James Rozoff

Alison Blake

Jeanette Raleigh

L. S. Burton

Jess Mountifield
C. A. Newsome

J R C Salter

Michael Meyer

E. B. Boggs

David A. Cuban

Scott Langrel

John Daulton

Kathleen Steed

Chris Ward

Jacques Antoine

Suzie O'Connell

Thomas Jenner

Angeline Perkins

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A notice sounds in her head, heavy and weightless right now, like thunder. WHAT It’s awkward firstly, getting past unmarried phrases. She has the feel of it clearing its throat, frowning, fumbling for language it as soon as knew. WHAT DO THEY name THEE? She grimaces. “Quentin Sacheverell-Lytton,” she says, unhappily. “What... what do they name you? ” There’s this type of lengthy pause that she’s convinced there isn't any resolution, or it has forgotten no matter what identify it as soon as glided by. she will be able to suppose her personal identify grew to become persistently within the thing’s arms, fingered like a stone from a seashore, listen the syllables of the preposterous double barrel separated out and weighed. LEVANTER-SLEET She’s oddly touched. It’s no twist of fate, she’s yes – the article has named itself in mimicry of her. Her personal identify feels rather less absurd and ill-fitting along it. “Pleased to fulfill you, Mr Levanter-Sleet,” she says. That’s whilst George bangs in the course of the door, trying to find his mobile. He sees it at the rug beside her right now, then takes in how she’s crouched over a brand new development of dirt. He flattens her simply. Her speedy intuition is to freeze, cross limp, to not struggle again. He shoves her face-down into the pile of dirt and rubs. Too overdue (it was once constantly too overdue) she starts to fight. “I knew it was once you,” he says. “You thieving little freak, how dare you. ” He knots a hand in her hair, scoops her again as much as see her face. “Do you're thinking that i need you working up accounts chatting on your little neighbors approximately dolls’ tea events? God, examine all this hair, examine you, Queenie. ” He shakes her via the hair like a puppet. she will be able to simply see herself, within the reflect, her face lined white with airborne dirt and dust. “You appear like a... a dollybird,” says George, absurdly. She can't remotely see why she appears like that. yet he shall we cross of her and he or she thinks it’s over, scrambles up and makes to expire of the room. yet it’s now not over and he slings her again to the ground. He used to be grabbing her field of colored pastels from the table, it seems, and he sits on her, his heavy backside scorching on her pelvis, and holds her head down with one hand whereas the opposite scrubs a pastel throughout her face. She claws at his fingers yet he slaps her and she’s petrified of the scraping of the pastel close to her eye, fearful of his weight. He hasn’t long past this some distance ahead of. “There. Now you’re a fine looking lady, aren’t you? ” he pants, oddly breathless. He shall we her up, no longer thoroughly yet sufficient to work out the replicate back. She appears to be like, if whatever, much less like a lady than ordinary. A wild-haired boy with a toddler’s approximation of a clown’s makeup scuffed throughout his face stares again at her. And but, definite, she will be able to see what George ability now, the white face powder, purple lipstick, rouge, eyeliner. anything is going challenging and transparent inside of her, like an icicle. She seems to be again at him. “I’m not only a girl,” she says. “I’m a witch. ” He opens his mouth to snigger, increases his hand to hit her back. Then she sees anything switch in his face, as Mr Levanter-Sleet’s shadow falls throughout it. George can’t precisely see him, after all, yet a few movement within the air, a few shred of darkness should have drifted via his know-how, simply because he starts off again.

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