Short Stories

Mermaid's Tale

Mermaid's Tale

by Sandra Macdougall (Edited by Lynne Hand)

As a child, Merma once walked upon earth's greenest fields. She experienced the summer grass beneath her feet and wore shoes that carried her over rocky terrain. She stubbed her toes and skinned her knees yet neither did she escape the pain of those wounds than she did the pain of a broken heart as an adult.

She lost her love to as much greed as any man could acquire, greed for luxury , greed for temporary pleasure and greed through self absorbed advancement. Love no longer had value to him, her time meant little and her heart was no longer enough to offer him happiness.

The Serpent's Story

by Leonid Andreyev

Hush! Hush! Hush! Come closer to me. Look into my eyes!

I always was a fascinating creature, tender, sensitive, and grateful. I was wise and I was noble. And I am so flexible in the writhing of my graceful body that it will afford you joy to watch my easy dance. Now I shall coil up into a ring, flash my scales dimly, wind myself around tenderly and clasp my steel body in my gentle, cold embraces. One in many! One in many!

Exclusive Interview With Santa Claus

Santa Surfing

Roy Thomsitt

Over the past two months I have been writing a Christmas story. It is about Santa Claus and the remarkable sequence of events that befell a young girl living on the edge of the rainforest in Palawan, a tropical island where I live.

Of course, for such an apparently far fetched story, it was important to check out the facts. That was easy to do here in Palawan, but how could I interview somebody quite so famous as Santa Claus, who lived far away in a land where I would freeze to death as soon as I got off the airplane?

Eyes Out of the Woodlands (A Short Story out of Northern Minnesota)

by Dennis Siluk

Dinosaur Eye

1

[1959] He hid in the woods, watching his father and sister, what they were doing. So we heard that, that is. Most of us felt, and all of us gossiped, he was up to no good. Here he lived an estranged life, hidden in the thick of the deep, like a recluse.

At times it was said, you could smell his cooking of venison, or spot him driving his 1952-pickup to town, dilapidated. His one room shack remained on the 1400-acers his father owned, and there he lived quietly, out of sight and out of the minds of the people in town, except for the intermit conversations, and gossip.

August's Story of the Month  

Wandering In The Spring Festival, China

By Oneinabillion

The morning starts with a bang or one bang after another, a series, a chorus - the same sound that lulled me to sleep the night before. Well, I smile to myself, after all it's their country and they're free to do as they like. How does it matter that most cities elsewhere have practically banned firecrackers?