Story: A Scene from Cafe Retro by Peter M. Ball

Is there anything quite like a cafe? No. Cafes are the epicentre of good and evil, the place where all the best and worst of humanity combines into a grotesque quiche of doom, with sprinkles of love. It’s only fitting that, during our short reign, we at DVS have published not one but perhaps several stories with cafes. We (and by we I chiefly mean I) believe that the following story is also set in a cafe. At least the author tells me so.

And so on.

Enjoy!

A Scene from Cafe Retro 

 

 

A Scene from Café Retro

By Peter M. Ball

 

 

You sit opposite Pandora, safe in the shadows of the café, the room filled with the low babble of crowd murmur. Pandora sips her coffee, café au lait spiked with ephedrine. She stares at you, green eyes pinned and anxious. You stare back, waiting. She takes a sip, licks residue off her lips.

Story: When I Was Thirteen I Ate My City… by Trent Jamieson

On the table there is a wooden pig. No matter what happens it keeps smiling. What does it know?

when-i-was-thirteen-i-ate-my-city 

 

 

 

When I was Thirteen I Ate My City

Trent Jamieson

 

 

When I was thirteen I ate my city. I was extremely tall for my age. I had a serious face and a much more dreadfully serious hunger. Brisbane was a tasty city. A bit dry, even with its coils of river, but there hadn’t been much rain for a while. So a wet meal was out of the question.

Story: Piranhas, Pickle Joe, and Me… by Melissa Yuan-Innes

I’m too sick to think of something witty to say about this story… so you’ll have to make do with my half-brother Carlson who calls it “twice the piranhas for only half the pickles”… we all know what he means by that right?

piranhas

 

 

Piranhas, Pickle Joe, and Me

Melissa Yuan-Innes

 

 

My best friend is a pickle.

 

By that, I don’t mean that his last name is Pickle.

 

I mean that he is a long, thin slice of dill pickle. His name is Joe.

Story: Eat My Stardust… by Sarah Totton

This story has a character called Zif the magic beaver. How could you not buy a story with a character called Zif the magic beaver? No really.

Now behold its mystery!!

eat-my-stardust 

 

 

 

Eat My Stardust

Sarah Totton

 

 

 

Zif the magic beaver crawled out of the dam he’d burrowed in the duvet. He gazed at the 4-D polychromatic poster on the wall above his bed. It said:

 

The Reprehensible Ticktown Trio

Featuring:

Midway Evans on kazoo

The Ticktown Frog on the KitKat®

The Bird of Ticktown on the Bird of Ticktown

Playing October 5th only!

Riverside Park

Story: That Kind of Day… by Bruce Holland Rogers

This story reminds me of something I don’t remember having forgotten… I can’t recall precisely what, but I think you’ll agree that it captures the moment.

Enjoy!

that-kind-of-day.pdf

 

That Kind of Day

Bruce Holland Rogers

 

He had run out of gas. That was the kind of day he was having. He had gone into the church to see if he could use their phone or at least get directions to the nearest gas station. But when he explained his problem to the woman in the church office, she said, “Two-eighty a gallon.”

Poem: Lavender…. by Ashley Capes

This week’s sandwich is a tale of woe and weariness from the cityscapes of Northerland.

Oh, wait.

No.

It’s a poem.

Con delay

Just a quick note to reassure concerned passengers: due to me being out of time, next week’s story will appear a couple of days later than usual.

Set your watches to stun!

Story: The Door Was Framed… Katy Wimhurst

It’s true that I am susceptible to things that don’t normally talk talking; already in DVS we have had a talking cloud, and a magical talking stork. This story contains many talking things. And that is as it should be.

thedoorwasframed.pdf

 

The Door was Framed

Katy Wimhurst

 

There are many things a woman is prepared for in life, but being assaulted by The Smiths’ CD Meat is Murder is not one of them. When Tania arrived home from work, her mind, quite sensibly, was more concerned with supper than with a potentially psychotic inanimate object.

Story: Blue Hands… by Jason Fischer

This story was discovered by Tintin in an opium den in a miscellaneous country. It was smuggled out inside an elderly bearded man’s pipe. After many ill-fated adventures it ended up here, at “the sandwich”.

 I hope it brings you joy and the world peace and fragrance.

blue-hands.pdf

 

Blue Hands

Jason Fischer

 

I got these blue hands. Can’t help that.  They’re not actually blue, mind you.  That’s just what I call them.

Story: Cloud… by Jason Jordan

Welcome to March, a month I designed specifically for housing the next five pieces. Fortunately it has also proved useful as a way of measuring time. Awesome!

Now here’s a story:

cloud.pdf

 

Cloud

Jason Jordan

I’m on my way to take a shower when I realize that the light’s on in the bathroom, and the door’s cracked.  This is weird because: A) I don’t leave lights on when I exit a room, and B) I either leave doors wide open or closed.  No in betweens.  So, with my towel around my waist as my only cover-up, I inch toward the bathroom. I hear what sounds like the faucet running, but it’s different, as if a bunch of guys are pissing all at once.