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The Scum Gentry Alternative Arts and Media.
Scum Gentry literary magazines and writing websites hub: literary fiction, horror stories, weird fiction and more...

The Breakup - Short Story by J.M. Triangle

In July, Elizabeth packed a red suitcase with all the requirements for a weekend away, shut the door on her apartment and walked to the outside of the building. A woman carrying a bouquet of lilies passed her on the steps. Richard loved lilies, he told her that when they first met at the beginning of spring. Almost everything had been wonderful since then.

What a delight it had been when he told her he was bringing her away on a romantic weekend. Elizabeth had batted her eyelashes and told him how wonderful it would be to take a holiday.

She did not tell him that work had been such a drat—that the manager had begun to look at her in the same mistrustful way that the old manager had done—before he went missing.

Richard’s black car pulled up next to her. The passenger’s side window rolled down, “you ready to get going?”

She ambled over to the car, the suitcase’s wheels bumbled along behind her. “Where do you want me to put this?”

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?” he grinned. “Put it in the boot, it’s open.”

She heaved it in and got into the passenger’s side.

“You look nice,” he said, eying her...


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A Day in Daniel's Life - Flash Fiction by Aurora Coppola

It was one of those days, I think everyone has one of those at one stage, don’t they?

I just don’t want to go to school today—we have P.E. anyway—he thought in his brain.

Andrew, seventeen just going eighteen had his hormones playing tricks on him.

His mother went to too many teacher’s meetings to keep her hopes up so she just told him that he would have gone straight to work if he didn’t pass. Typical!

Andrew has dark blond curly hair just like his dad, but he prefers to have it cut nice and tight (like his dad used to have it, every now and again). He loves going with his canoe, he’d always wear a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. He was only short of going to bed like that, he felt that comfortable with it. He didn’t care about anything else at the moment.

<<I will never go back to that school, ever! >> He thought. The thing is that he already made a show of himself in numerous occasions while in class with his mates, telling the teacher to fuck off after she made smart remarks on the state of his shirt, the dirt on it!—that’s when she got a nice big fat green golly on her face—and off I go to the principal’s office, God’s speed of course!

He loved to make a bollocks of himself because he was bored to death. He was against...


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Benny Profane - Serial fiction - Notes of a Professional Voyeur IV at the Scum Gentry...

Read Part One Here


It might surprise you to find out that the parameters of my terrestrial existence stretch further than the dimensions of my projectionist’s booth.

Although I consider my cinephilic den as my true spiritual home, it is incumbent upon me to every now and then venture out into that grand and grumbling hubbub of activity, the playground and battlefield of all our basic human compulsions known commonly as “The World”.

I precipitate these excursions with a stiffening intake of breath, combined with the adoption of a firm, resolute posture, as I endeavour to overcome my agoraphobic inclinations and feed this atavistic and counter-intuitive hunger for human interaction.

My inevitable destination on these sporadic excursions is my local working-man’s watering hole. It is a prestigious enough sort of an establishment, where the peanut bowls are usually full and the disposable bathroom towels plentiful.

It mainly attracts a sombre and surly type of clientele; replete as it is with loners, outcasts and depressives who contribute to the homely atmosphere of stasis and monotony that I find so comforting...


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