Fiction Commons^™

Front Matter

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Volume 15, Issue 4: Full Text

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Poems, Roland Crim, Basil Raymond

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Adrift by, Roland Crim and An Apology for Loving by, Basil Raymond.

The Price Of Victory, Lee Lovell

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It was early in the fourth round; I measured it by the four swallows of whisky taken from the half empty pint of "Old Grandad" nestling against the palm of my left hand. The whisky produced a warm sensation that loosened my tongue, causing me to yell as did the rest of the wild beasts around me. Urged on by the mastery of alcohol, all the savageness of primitive man overshadowed the culture of civilization; and I felt the supremacy of the conqueror ruthlessly beating his victim. Each of his blows became my own; each smack of his fist slamming …

How Green, Russell Foster

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Eons ago when the government was donating an existence to me as payment for a few negligible risks, I lounged about and zig-zagged the Atlantic six or eight times aboard a tired old Liberty ship named in honor of Buffalo Bill Cody. Now Bill may have been a smooth-riding, fast-shooting pioneer-not so his namesake. She couldn't push ten knots burning mattresses; nevertheless, she attracted the elite.

Democracy Of Art, Arnold Wajenberg

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Many people today, both artists and laymen, believe that art is essentially aristocratic. Some artists admit readily that their work is not for the "masses." The "masses," on the other hand, often regard art as something strange and dull, reserved for eccentrics who live in an imaginative half-world of their own. Usually the artists who boast that their work is for the upper two percent will also add that "the common man" is incapable of appreciating "real art." This gives rise to the question of what "real art" is.

"The Listeners"-Misinterpreted, Jim Pappas

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Once upon a time, the editor of a metropolitan daily newspaper sent out three journalists to bring back a story...

I Wonder And The Reason, Diana Harvey

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The whole day is in a minor key and colored gray. I sit on a high cliff with my back against a tree-gazing at the sky and the water-trying to make myself a part of their tranquillity. Up above is the skyspread with a thick layer of gray clouds; it hangs low over the earth. Beneath lies the water-endless rows of small waves, pinched into shape and pushed to shore by the slow wind. The trees, too, are playthings of the wind; it uses their stark, black branches as strings and strums long sad chords upon them. I am calmed …

Soul Incarnate, Roland Crim

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It would come. It would spread its inky blackness before me,

dark as any night.

So I prayed to God to give me light to see it, strength to fight

The unexplainable fear of the unknown...

Patience, Patrick J. Mahoney Iii

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...It may take a long time before they make a move now, but I'll wait. Hell, I've got nothing else to do; and besides, I've got patience.

Europe's Forgotten Children, Arlean Lemke

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Upon my arrival in Europe, one year after the war had ended, I found the people busily clearing away the wreckage and rebuilding the damaged structures. The reconstruction of the ravaged cities was being carried on with great rapidity; but, in their preoccupation, people overlooked the millions of children who were orphaned or deserted. Left to shift for themselves in a world of hunger, misery and squalor-and deprived of human care-these children wander aimlessly about the streets, begging or stealing. They have lost all sense of security, morals and decency.

Fate???, Carlton Bowles

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A few days ago I ran into an old friend of mine, whom we can call Judge Smith. I had not seen the Judge for several years, but it was apparent to me that in that time he had aged rapidly-almost too rapidly for a man of his good health. When I questioned him on this point, he invited me to lunch and during the meal told me a very interesting story.

The Question, Richard H. Owens

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He stood beside his car with one foot resting on the rear tire. A crowd of people were gathered around him looking curiously into his face. They asked questions that he answered automatically - not giving the answers any thought because he had heard them over and over again from people who were trying to form a possible story. They wanted a little personal touch to add in case they got the chance to tell about an ex-midget race driver with whom they had had a little chat once. He did not look at anyone's eyes particularly, but he knew …

A Most Charitable Man, Dick Cassidy

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Phillip' Kingsley was a banker and looked the part. He was a typical example of the sort of man people expect to be president of a bank. His carefully shined shoes, conservative clothes and distinguished manner were complemented by his slightly greying temples and pale blue eyes. When he spoke, he did so in carefully selected sentences, making use of his wide vocabulary. A popular man, he was noted for his friendliness to the local townspeople and for the fact that he could be seen at any time to discuss a loan for a new silo or an additional building …

Rainy Season, George Fullen

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It was a gloomy, drenched day. The sky was darkening imperceptibly but steadily, obscuring the view from the very small mess hall which huddled in the middle of a muddy waste. The only thing which identified it as a mess hall was the presence of the two soldiers who were sitting over their coffee. To them, it was weather of a monotonous sadness which seemed to have settled upon them, branding them permanently.

Variations On A Theme By Candide, Frank Slupesky

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"The United States, best of all possible countries," is the conviction of most nonthinking, yet sincere Americans. Was our government not formed by people who rebelled against the despotism of Europe? Was our Constitution not formed to give equality and self-government to the citizens of America? Did we not fight a civil war to insure equality? Have we not always been a humane nation? Were we not too generous in donating millions to the Japanese earthquake relief, just to turn around and have them "stab us in the back" at Pearl Harbor? Have we not more radios, telephones, automobiles, washing …

Old Fib, M. R. Huntzinger

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That's a mighty fine lookin' mare you're drivin' there, mister. You say she throwed a shoe about a mile from here? Well, I guess we can fix that soon as I run down some tools...

Time! Time!, Anne Mcdonnell

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Time! Time!

Destiny Squeaks, N. Umbenhower

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Rat adjusted his spectacles and flipped the pages over and over. This was really a windfall. Since clean-up week last year he had found only scraps of news. True there were newspapers, but they were concerned mostly with local news, and they were quite often gathered up by the garbage collector before Rat had had time to read them. When accounts of national or international events of momentous significance to Ratdom were printed, they occasionally were found by Rat; but as likely as not the succeeding issues could not be found anywhere along the entire alley.

Voyager, George Fullen

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A lonely voyager leaned against the rail And scanned the sea and sky...