Articles Category: Stories - Symposia: The Online Philosophy Journal

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Winter of Life By : Katharine Daimler Though we old-timers know and accept the fact that winter is the final season of life for us here on earth, there is an innate longing for life instilled in our being. Burns said it best. “Thou golden time, o’ Youthful prime, Why comest thou not again!” Under Pressure By : Tabula Rasa #II* A cautionary tale concerning in-flight drinking. Negative Spaces By : Tabula Rasa #II Sometimes our pasts do come back to haunt us. Woodson Lewis By : BG Stroup A car burning in 1932 Paradise Behind By : Andy Thomas (NoelyG) He looked over her sleeping body and a slight smile appeared on his face. A triumphant smile. She was definitely one of his best, picking her up was really a work of art. He recalled the scene in the bar, his subtle, slow movements, alpha male posture, saying the right things at just the right time. He remembered being amused as her rigid posture slowly softened under his charm, like a snow man under the near-far heat of the sun. He lay back down again and stared at the ceiling, though not Terror By : Katharine Daimler A man's descent into insanity, almost taking his wife with him. Love Beyond Love By : BG Stroup Beyond love. The regions beyond romantic love Chant in unison with dilated pupils: ‘Eco-cult, Eco-cult, Eco-cult….’ By : With $20 billion per annum in public funding the modern earth cult can easily spend some nickels to attract cult members. I can well imagine that soon, on prime time TV, [or a gay sitcom], will be the tax-payer funded eco-cult recruitment, ‘You must join us’ advert. It will show a wide expanse of meadow populated by masses of automatons with arms outstretched resembling a fuhrer cult rally. Their laconic voices will repeat the intonation, ‘save the earth goddess…save the earth goddess…’ He might have been thinking of me By : someoneisatthedoor Story based around working in a sachet packing factory. MWT By : someoneisatthedoor Short story based around the Many Worlds Theory Part Three By : someoneisatthedoor Story inspired by the draft EU constitution. The Drug War By : Shyster She wanders down the littered streets of Vancouver, B.C., pushing a battered shopping cart with emaciated hands and a loping gait. Her eyes are vacuous, unblinking, as she asks passers-by if they could spare a little change because, she claims, she has not eaten for several days. She is yet another panhandler who will spend whatever earnings they eke out on drugs. People pass her without acknowledgment, with the superior air of those who have not fallen victim to the weakness of drug addiction. The watcher By : Noely G A dark, musty corner called for him. There he would spend his night, the flicker of his eyes illuminating the room in his own way. Such dither dather, to and fro, hello my dear, don’t give her your fear. Once that life had sought him, but with the passing of the years things had changed. Things always change, that is their way. Rhubarb By : Arri Kafoor A: I could really chew on one of those right now. B: It's almost nine in the morning. A: I love it, that feeling you get when you know exactly what it is you want, and nothing else. It's the thought of biting into a rhubarb that teases my sense of taste. B: I'm more lost in the thought of why there was a rhubarb advert on television at this ungodly hour. A: Anti-capitalists on a rampage? Arbora By : Alexander R. Wilkerson With the light crashing down upon my crown, I suspect a false fever. A wide grin cracks open my cranial facade, sparking enlightenment. My feet are firmly implanted in a thick layer of complex and starving green ivy, and I am able to sense a wet, corporeal steam-heat. Through my nostrils it breathes, clouding all perception. Helios’s broken arrows ignite the fallen arbor and dampen the already-wet canopy of lush green leaves. Falling Towards Faith By : Alexa Pecore He prowled back and forth across the room giving his prepared speech. The lecture hall of thirty or so students reduced itself to only me. Only me, my faith, and my teacher. There was something about confession, something about the personal betrayal, I thought, as he read from Foucault’s interview “Philosophy and the Death of God.” I was betraying myself every time I looked at him. I watched him from my seat in the very back of the classroom. ~Memories of an old combat pilot By : BG Stroup An old Luftwaffe pilot remembers a clear day The Mysterious Hole By : Chimney Sweep At the age of 65, Fred retired having worked all his life as a manual worker. Less than a year later, he suffered a minor stroke, and so moved into the Sunshine Sunflower Residential Home. It was a big place, with its own medical and catering facilities. The owner was a lady called Judith Strongbottom, who was a devout catholic, the hospital facility was run by a lady called Dr Meredith Simmons, and the kitchen was run by a West-Indian lady called Josie Jackson, a large lady who was loved by all a true story By : soren poulson The party was at Woodland Park. There were two kegs for about forty-five people, and more and more kept coming like zombies wandering out of the woods, lured by the aroma of alcohol, smoke, and vomit. When all three of these smells are mixed together, they form one very sweet and nauseous fragrance. If this smell came in a cologne bottle, I would buy a lifetime supply, I was addicted to it. Fear By : Her Bessiness Fear can be irrational, but if you take the moments when we are truly terrified, then we see the truly abhorrent side of human nature. This is a story about fear, very real fear, about how it wrecks and destroys everything. This is my definition of fear. Theme Park By : Old Gobbo Sarah sat there on the bench twisting her hair around her finger like the woman in the cotton candy stand. The sun was now starting to set and Sarah knew that soon the lights would come on. The singular natural light of the sun would be replaced by the multitude of colourful spheres that no one seemed to notice until they actually came on. Carnival By : Skydaemon The carnival had just arrived in town. It brought with it all the normal and necessary parts of a carnival. The noise, the lights, and worst of all the smell. I’ve always hated carnivals. Even when I was a child, my parents would take me and I would spend the entire night bored or crying. I maintain that it was because something horrible happened there, but my parents would never confirm that suspicion. Righteousness and Retribution By : Tabula Rasa In the year 2010 a mutant strain of the Bird-influenza virus became lateraly infectious in humans. The resulting epidemic first decimated, then devastated populations all over the world. Using the widespread chaos, outer-jihadist groups with access to Iranian weapons-grade fissionable material, carried out a series of co-ordinated suitcase-sized nuclear suicide atacks on all the major seats of Western Government. Headless, diseased and dying, anarchy reigned in Europe and the USA. The Last Minutes By : Noely G The ground was soft beneath his feet. Soft and wet. The stench of the place made it clear that they were walking through a swamp, but the blindfold over his eyes made any confident assessment impossible. The Bastard By : Graham Robertson People always say the bottle stares back at them when they really start to hit it, but I don’t think so. No eyes, after all. Though eyes would be an improvement at this point. Better a blank stare than a rapidly expanding void. Funny how an empty bottle is so accusatory, how the absence yells at you, yells how much you’ve wasted and how much you will waste. It shouts about what you’re willing to do to please yourself, what a bastard you are. A Spring Morning By : slider The morning is cool. The rain from the night before has left the garden damp and everything has a fresh coat of moisture clinging to it. A few stubborn clouds drift lazily off to the eastern sky and meet the rising sun. Grudgingly, they disappear into the horizon leaving the sun dominion in its azure kingdom. Slowly, mist begins to rise with the warmth of a new day, and Charles awakes with the sunlight creeping across the bedroom floor, up on the bed, and into his weathered face. Birth of an Artist By : Gamer The holy light, gravity and chill of the birthing room seeped through Frank’s passive, baby machinery – a blind trickle of wind filtering through the strings of an abandoned harp – emitting a dead melody, true as the atrophied sphincter of a mental patient sleeping off a pilfered tub of shortening; the genuine mindless screechsong of the bewildered primate emerging from the bowels of nirvana into a sandpaper Mardi Gras of blankets and smiles. Late afteroon By : Her Bessiness 3PM... first piano student arrives. "How are you Megan?" (no answer.) The Talkshow By : Old Gobbo I stood there on the second hand of the clock I was watching; being sprung forward across an interval to a new place in my life. This is the essense of my time, I do not feel surrounded, I do not swim in it's wake, nor am I pushed by it's flow, rather I am the waterskier who skips across the sometimes bumpy waves. The World's Newest Profession By : The Adlerian I decided to walk for a change. This was partially to stretch my legs a bit and partially to just look at the assortment of humanity that congregated around this part of town. From a Mirror All is Clear By : BlueTGI Life has rules, winners, and losers, like a game show. However unlike this game show, in life the losers do not just walk away empty handed, or with the home game, no their lucky to walk. But here, now, for once in your life you are going to be given a special scripted encounter. It could be described as the home game, or the consolation prize. Its goal is to show the pride and failure of something oh so not common in this common era. But don’t be surprised if you get more than you wanted. Responding to a Message By : Matt le Grande The lecture had ended and a girl closed her loose notes into her folder and shoved it into her backpack as she stood up and began slamming through the knees of the other—sitting—students as she rushed out of her row. She then ran down the stairs, navigating through the speedy students who just made their way out of their aisle seats, and ran for the door she just saw her social psychology professor exit through. She saw him walking left, towards the hall exit, on his way to his office on the oth The Canoe By : LivingDeadGirl You hold the pine branch up for me and I slide under, ducking reality to waste afternoons of our lives on our beach. And as for our unfledged romance, the canoe has been here for all of it, snug in the shallow water, hidden in the bullfrog’s rushes. We are the only two who knew, who dared to take it out, back when you were growing your first beard. Late Afternoon... By : Her Bessiness An amusing story about a piano tutor and her students

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