:: Fiction

The Oddity published 20/11/2016

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I had to agree: “Carbs are righteous.”

“Yeah they are, I love carbs more than life.”

“Without carbs, life itself would be impossible.”

“So true, EJ. I just want to smash loaves of fresh baked bread into my face all day long.”

“What?”

“You know, not even eat it. Just smash my face with those carbs.”

Chapter 4 of EJ Spode‘s novel The Oddity.

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Fish Stocking published 17/11/2016

By English: Jean B. Sabalot [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The first weekend of January I walk in the park by my apartment and arrive at the smell of pines.
 
By Tina Xiang.

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Crevices published 14/11/2016

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The fearful snail was bobbing its head and his carefully rolled hem reverted back to its own place with a sigh of relief when A smiled. She smiled like a foreign woman smiles to a man in a foreign country. The curious snail had shot a chitinous love dart towards his mate. But just like in the animal world, there was no organ to receive the dart.

By Simina Neagu.

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The Oddity published 13/11/2016

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“Get the fuck off my property or I will ream out your asses with my God damn Remington 12 gauge! And I am not kidding — it has a full fucking choke on it!” I don’t know why he added the part about the choke. All that was going to do is narrow the spray pattern and make it less likely he would hit us.

Chapter 3 of EJ Spode‘s novel The Oddity.

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The Oddity published 06/11/2016

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Funmaker then actually seemed amused. “What’s the matter, you never saw Cool Hand Luke? He ate forty!”

“Gary, those were fucking eggs, Cool Hand Luke ate forty eggs not gizzards!”

“Same thing bro.”

“Also, Cool Hand Luke is fictional! He is. Not. Real.”

Climax broke in, “Jeezus EJ calm down. You’re gonna herniate yourself. Forget about the fucking eggs and gizzards already.”

Chapter 2 of EJ Spode‘s novel The Oddity.

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January 2003 published 02/11/2016

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I say “rumble”, but it was stranger than that, a sound not heard with the ears, but with the muscles of the heart and in the echo chambers of every vein, and not heard so much as it is remembered, recalled from a childhood’s accumulation of dog snarls and near-hits from trains and rolling cars driven by foul-drunk men well practiced at backhands, and it brings from those times much the same reaction: the widening of the eyes, the cold ache of paralysis, screams so remote-sounding it is as if they belong to another boy in another room.

By Spence Powell.

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On Horses and on Sea and on the Island of Malhado published 31/10/2016

I doubt the shape of this world. Where we find ourselves. As a band of Indians appear to us in these woods with their reeds and with their plume and their sounds all odd and fucked to hear so also we appear to them with our leather and our crossbow and our belts and to them also the sound we carry has no truck with them no weight at all except that it is not a silence there between us so our exchange in these woods is of a slim bag of gestures and through this we are both commanded to gauge if we are here in peace or have we come here to be against thee. How has a man come to be the judge of this?

Excerpts from Russell Persson‘s The Way of Florida.

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The Oddity published 30/10/2016

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The minute Athena opened her big bag of buds the car smelled like a blueberry-banana smoothie. She handed me one of the buds and I squeezed it between my fingers. It had an appealing spongy feel to it and it was resinous to the point of being gooey. I held it at eye level and saw that it had a mossy emerald hue to it, but was also marbled with nodules the color of raspberry jam. It looked like it had been flecked with finely shredded orange peel and then dusted with confectioner’s sugar. My saliva glands were tweaking. She had clearly graduated from smoking Iowa ditch weed to some righteous Cannabis Indica.

Chapter One of EJ Spode‘s novel The Oddity.

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Three Girls Sing a Sutartine published 25/10/2016

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A Sutartine is a Lithuanian multipart song sung by women, comprising multiple melodies of three to five pitches, which often run in parallel seconds. These songs are nearly extinct and are listed by World Heritage in their List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

By Amanda Oosthuizen.

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Fertiliser published 17/10/2016

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‘He practices his sentences on the Vine, and is condescended to. He does not want to end up like the other boys, beyond the box trees in the servants’ cemetery. He is small and pliant (only five three) but has learned to aim for higher things, for a high life. “Life holds us like a wheelbarrow,” he says, in a sudden, high-pitched flash of coherence, “a barrowload full to wheel out and spread, whichever way it so chooses.” What he is getting at, the Vine eventually understands, what the boy is after is to end up beneath the empty plot.’

By Scott Morris.

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