Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Eejit is a riotous short story about a president named Flump (who may seem strangely familiar to many readers). This tale tells of Flump’s most outrageous day. Goodreads+1Goodreads+1
Mark Rice, known for his sharp wit and satirical prowess, delivers a narrative that is both hilarious and thought-provoking. The story’s brevity doesn’t diminish its impact; instead, it ensures that every word serves a purpose, leading readers through a whirlwind of absurdity that mirrors real-world events in a delightfully exaggerated manner.
For fans of political satire and those who appreciate a good laugh at the expense of the world’s absurdities, Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Eejit is a must-read. It’s a testament to Rice’s ability to blend humor with incisive commentary, making it a standout piece in contemporary satirical literature.
Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Eejit is available on amazon.
Mist rose off Tanjong Merah’s tracks. The depot bore the odour of dust and rain. Under its flickering lights was a girl—always wet, always waiting.
Always holding an umbrella—but not her own.
All traces of the Singaporean train station at Tanjong Merah had vanished from Google Maps,scrubbed, as if it had never borne passengers or trams. It sat below Tanjong Merah’s glass towers, rustic, silent—empty.
But not totally defunct. The last tram arrived every monsoon season, rolling in on a track that shouldn’t exist—for those who lost something they couldn’t quite name.
The station was the backdrop of Su Min Ong’s tragic disappearance—one that became a local legend over years of telling. 1965’s great floods had grown a monster. Ruined infrastructure. Compromised food sources. Displaced lives. Tanjong Merah had borne more than its fair share of human losses—including Su Min’s. On Line Zero’s final tram.
Tanjong Rhu had welcomed the train, playing its much needed host during the deluge. Its keeper, alone, documented each appearance and departure. Su Min, pale, in a soaked uniform, arrived like clockwork every Friday of the month since then.
And someone else from Tanjong Merah’s platform would vanish. Without shoes.
The tram pulled into the depot, along with echoes of thunder and flashes of lightning. The Keeper opened his logbook, preparing to record that Friday’s names—and saw his own, already penned.
The station bell tolled, without being touched.
Su Min arrived, pale-faced, eyes hollow. She said nothing, but opened her umbrella, revealing tram tickets stitched within.
The keeper didn’t have any—he didn’t need one. But he understood.
Su Min guided him aboard the train, handing him her stitched umbrella.
She stepped off. The tram hissed, breathing for the last time.
At dawn. the depot stands empty, buried under an overnight construction project. Only an old pair of shoes remains, tattered from years of walking and groundskeeping.
Mass Rapid Transit apps show Line O—out of service since 1965.
A few years later, a commuter on the train entering the new Tanjong Merah Mass Rapid Transit station scrolls down the screen of his mobile phone. He sees a reflection in its glass, a wet girl, seated on a bench, with no one seated beside her.
She rides quietly beside us now, waiting for a seat.
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This story is entirely original. AI tags are coincidental.
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Our lives are tears stitched into art. —Michelle Liew’s Tattoable of the day
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The journey of life is like reconstructing a torn tapestry-one that moves from the challenge of isolation, but is resilient, filled with hope and love.
Cracked bowls are often better than polished porcelain ones.—Michelle Liew’s tattooable of the day
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Cedarvale was a suburb haven in full bloom—picture postcard perfection. Clover Wen was the idealist greeting card writer —her ‘just so’ attitude could put Marie Kondo to shame. Her kitchen towels were on rotation. Her cupboards—colour coded. And her spice rack? Alphabetized.
But the idealist had a creative secret—she was the pen behind a famous authentic lifestyle influencer.
It was her comfort zone—it was where she could chase her curated influencer dreams—everything crafted twice over—without the fear of cosmetic judgement. It was where she could hide her fear of blandness—coming out as a lifestyle influencer too ‘jigsawed’ to show herself.
But Clover’s life was a postcard lie—even hardy clovers wilted when over-watered.
Among her pastel promo drafts was a threatening note—one penned in her style, demanding that she confess her ghostwriting exploits or risk losing the utopian life she had sculpted in Cedarvale.
And so began her frantic search for mano sinistra—the evil maestro who composed the note. Perhaps it was Philomena—the cheeky handwriting analyst neighbour would pen something like that. Or her mother—the old one was lost in filters and fonts. He or she had baked clues into the thousands of drafts in what was now a crime scene—a compost pile of tattered ideas.
She filtered through the torn leaves of mental sparks—her mind an un-Cloverlike, confused warp. It was about to spin beyond control when it hit her–the mano sinistra was none other than herself. Her Breakdown—made of half-eaten cake and drafts— had penned it in a hurry, one her well-honed self was too ready to deny.
The handwriting was hers—because her porcelain finish had cracks. She had been the one yelling Mayday. The mano sinistra was herself.
And she hit a jarring note—the only way to ease the chaos in her too-right self was to publish the note. And she did. In all its messy honesty. Philomena winked her support. Her mother gave her a hug.
And her authentic lifestyle influencer gave her his blog. It turned out that cracked bowls sold better than polished porcelain ones.
Now Clover still writes—but embraces off-page scripts when they blend in.
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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
Ever gazed at the stars and wondered if our origins lie beyond Earth? In The Colonizers, Joseph Robert Mullen invites readers on a captivating journey that challenges our understanding of humanity’s beginnings.
This narrative delves into the provocative question: “Did life here begin out there?” Mullen weaves a tale that seamlessly blends science fiction with philosophical inquiry, exploring the possibility that extraterrestrial beings played a role in seeding life on our planet. The story unfolds through a series of revelations and discoveries that keep readers engaged and contemplative.Amazon+1Goodreads+1
What sets this book apart is its ability to intertwine speculative fiction with profound questions about existence, purpose, and the universe. Mullen’s storytelling encourages readers to ponder the vastness of space and our place within it, making for a thought-provoking read.
For those intrigued by the mysteries of our origins and the cosmos, The Colonizers offers a narrative that is both entertaining and intellectually stimulating. Embark on this journey and explore the possibilities that lie beyond our world.
If you have to go down, go down in sequins.- Michelle Liew’s Tattooable
The world was ending–yet again. The decree issued by the Mayor of Lockabee was hasty– all residents were to gather at the town hall for another cosplay emergency drill. Laura GoGetter showed up, eyes decorated by the trendiest eyeliner available at her favourite cosmetics outlet. Her leather jacket and grin told others– try me.
She wasn’t fearless–she just didn’t have the time for all that paperwork. Doom knocked–she popped confetti in his face. The Universe wanted silence—she hollered with a megaphone.
As everyone gathered with faces that told of sleepless nights, a meteor tore the sky, ready to crush.
Pandemonium–everyone scattered amid the rising echoes of their screams. Laura stumbled spectacularly–then got up with flair. Her poise wasn’t naive–it was rebellious.
She stood, eyes fiercely locked on the meteor as it approached–not to stop it, but to stand in it. With her glitter and grit.
Perhaps the world would end. Perhaps it wouldn’t. Either way, survival was loud…she had to make some noise.
But if she did go down, she’d go down in sequins.
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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
Ever pondered the origins of lightning? In David Blair’s Dragons in the Clouds, this question becomes the spark for an enthralling tale where dragons don’t just exist — they soar above us, hidden within the clouds. This isn’t your average fantasy novel. It’s a bold reimagining of ancient legends, fusing magic, morality, and mystery in a way that feels both fresh and timeless.
Set in an age when dragons roamed the earth freely, the story begins with a kingdom terrified by a breed of vicious dragons. In a panic, the king declares that all dragons must be exterminated. But Merlinius, the royal wizard, knows better — not all dragons are evil. To protect a family of gentle dragons, he casts a spell of weightlessness that sends them into hiding in the skies, cloaked in cloud and shadow. From there, a secret world begins to unfold, where truth and legend blur with every flash of lightning.
The story is accessible yet richly imaginative, making it a great read for younger fantasy fans and adults alike. Characters like the young David and his dragon companion Rago bring heart to the tale, while Merlinius adds a touch of wisdom and classic magical charm. With themes of friendship, courage, and seeing beyond appearances, it carries a meaningful message beneath the wings of its adventure.
If you’ve ever looked up at the clouds and wondered what might be hiding behind them, this book dares to answer — and you’ll be glad it did.
Keys may unveil truths best hidden.–Michelle Liew’s tattooable
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By fire formed, in iron vowed
The task to open gates allowed
By craftsman’s hand, and whispered will
I opened doors to dreams fulfilled.
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I turned in palms, both bare and filled
Opened chests and doors to guilt
Each twist my tale, and lock my stage
I was the writer of the page
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And then–a door to tearful eyes
A cellar filled with muffled cries
I turned, to understand, too late–
To abject horrors, abject hate
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And then, I jammed. The man turned red.
He stomped on me–“Useless,” he said
But I saw what his locks concealed
Not all truths are apt to feel
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Discarded, I lay in his cove
Beside a knife, a rope, a glove
Overcome by rain, by rust
By stinging pain, by damaged trust
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In still silence, I now lie bidden
“Keys may unveil truths best hidden.”
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If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights on! ☕Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
Set against the backdrop of World War II, Here, Now, and Forever follows Carl Goodman, a Merchant Marine sailor, and Ruby Matthews, a black nurse, who survive a plane crash in the Himalayas. Their discovery of a portal to an Eden-like garden leads to a deepening relationship and a confrontation with an alien named Norlok. Upon rescue, they find that 85 years have passed, yet they’ve not aged—a situation that changes upon returning to the U.S., prompting a race against time to return to their sanctuary.
Frankel masterfully weaves themes of racism, sexism, and antisemitism into the narrative, reflecting the societal challenges of the 1940s. The evolving relationship between Carl and Ruby is both poignant and authentic, set against a richly imagined sci-fi backdrop.
This novel is a compelling blend of historical and science fiction, offering a thought-provoking exploration of love, identity, and the human condition.
Here, Now and Forever is available on Amazon! Do download it here.
🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏 On her rooftop, Lina flew kites Each carried worries, bore silent nights Regrets, what if she had swallowed words They danced above, her words unheard 🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏 The wind weakened with the kites’ great weight A thud replaced its dancing traits. Lina gazed at the still sky Her heart now ill, she wondered why 🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏 A boy passed with a cheerful grin “Letting go means not to rein it in.” Lina blinked, and cut the strings The heavy kite took to the wind 🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏 Now Lina leaves her grief to air, No tethers, knots or heavy cares She leaves her kites alone–they soar– Because she doesn’t hanker as before. 🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏🪁🎏
f you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights on! ☕Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
The Getting Literal Writing Alcove 