Maeryn Lamonte Copyright ©️ 2024

You never expect Hollywood to get it right, do you? I mean not in the slightest. Because why let reality get in the way of a good story? Pure escapism, which isn’t to say pure rubbish. I mean we all need to get away from the real world every now and then.

So anyway. Time loops. More common than you might think.

“My God, Holmes, why are you dressed as a woman? “

“This is the real me. Watson. All the opium and melancholy were just trying to deflect my agony over living as a man.”

“Extraordinary! How long have you felt like this? When did you know?”

“When? Elementary, my dear Watson.”

Ghost Town
I had small hope this year of achieving my New Year’s Resolution. Recognising that it was likely to fare no better than its predecessor of the year before, I’d varied it this time, but I had little faith. My basic need was centred on overcoming the temptation which surrounded me and which in the past I had proved too weak to conquer. The circumstance from which that delicious torment arose was that I was at home, alone, for long hours each day while Carole, my wife, was working. There was no escaping it.

Maeryn Lamonte Copyright ©️ 2024
I doubt this’ll count as it’s about a thousand words short, but just for the fun...

“Mr Smee! What in blue blazes do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m steering the ship, captain, like you said.”

“Then why, pray, are we going in the wrong direction?”

“No sir. I beg to differ sir. Not the wrong direction at all. You said, ‘Second star to the right and straight on till morning, sir.”

“So do tell me, you imbecile, why it is that we’re steering for the third star to the right?”

**Trigger Warning: Explicit Content**

Dear reader, if you've followed us through the journey of this series, please be aware that just like its previous parts, this vignette unfolds with vivid and explicit storytelling. Your boundaries are valued and respected. Therefore I warmly encourage you to listen to your feelings and prioritize your well-being when choosing to engage with this content.

For those who find solace and excitement within my work, you are all invited to this casting call.

It was for the start of 2010 that I’d made a resolution to spend more money on myself. Little did I know what the action I took to satisfy that resolution would mean starting months later. It changed my view of reality.

Julia's known only to herself, as Steven to the rest of the world. Through circumstances out of her control, she becomes neither. Can she make things right? Can she get back home?

Like It's Your Last
By Marissa Lynn

2023 had not been a year full of highlights for Steven Kelly.

Not when the biggest moment was the breakup of his five-year relationship. They'd been drifting for a while. Ultimately, Kara had reached a point where she couldn't handle his dressing, not the fact that he did it, but the increasing frequency.

My guests were murmuring as I got up from my discussion with Braccious. This is what I wanted them to start doing, questioning who I would show favor to. The wealthy always want to find themselves able to make more money and status. I just gave that to one of their rivals, and they were not included in any discussions.

The shower felt so good. I could not remember the last time I had showered or washed my hair. I was not dirty. Dr. Tom must have cleaned me while I was in the medical coma. Still, the warm water felt sensual on my now smooth skin. It's funny how you don't realise how you miss the everyday trappings of civilization.

The shower gel and shampoo were all heavily scented with jasmine and other flowery scents. I wrapped the towel around my waist and started to dry my hair. I walked back into the bedroom.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?"

“I’ll have to look things up to see if they’re worth more than the precious metals in them,” she said. “I don’t recognize them. The minting techniques seem to be relatively modern, like eighteenth or nineteenth century, but I thought I’d recognize all the historic coins of that period, and I don’t.”

If only I had listened to the warnings about drugs. In my defense though, I have had a rotten life up until this present moment. A moment that finds me staring down the barrel of a shotgun in a private hospital in the middle of the night.

The first few years of my life were like many other people's. I was the only child of loving but poor parents. I was always on the small side which led to bullying at school, but that was normal. Schools say they hate bullying, but most of them turn a blind eye to it.

Living the Novel
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Author’s note - After finishing the updated story of Laurence I was finding it very difficult to lay the story down. I knew that if I continued, then it would get dark and I knew that I couldn’t avoid that. As readers you may appreciate my dilemma or say it would have been better to leave it as it was?

This is written as a separate short story so readers can avoid the ending that appears here. I needed to write it, but you don’t need to read it although I hope some of you do.

Marcia woke with a start. She'd heard something in her sleep which didn't come from the engines or the gentle rocking of the “Blue Canoe.”

It came from the other bed in the room. She lay quietly again for a few moments until she heard another sniff. It didn't seem like the product of a cold or allergies. This sounded like someone hurting. She debated for a few minutes, wondering if she should just let Heather cry it out. When she heard the multiple exhalations of a weep, however, her compassion took over.

An assassin's New Year's resolution to himself is to spend more time with his wife. He gets that wish, in a rather peculiar fashion.

Life can be tough if you're an artist, and I don't want to hear any agita about whether a potter is an artist or craftsman. Craftsperson. Whatever. A painter uses his hands to paint, a musician uses her hands to play; I use my hands to sculpt wet clay into interesting shapes. Then I use my hands to pint them.

So: I'm an artist. Stop arguing!

Quietly Me
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

I was born gay – slightly built, softly spoken, effeminate and cock-loving. It was just that I was excruciatingly shy – not a showoff like so many confident gay men. I am not one of those. It might have been easier if I was “Loud and Proud”.

I wear women’s clothes, not to express myself, but to disappear. An effeminate man stands out. A plain woman doesn’t. I just look after my skin and my hair – just to make it look not male. That is enough. Just to allow me not to be noticed.

High Resolution
A Short Story for the New Year’s Resolution Story Contest
By Maryanne Peters