“So, Andy,” William said. “Why do I have to take my pants off again?”

“Just do it.”

“Okay.”

Andy puffed on his cigarette and stuck his hand between the couch cushions. “Then when you’re done pulling your pants down I want you to do me a favor.”

“You mean this doesn’t count as the favor I owe you?”

Andy laughed. “Are you kidding me? You owe me, like, a thousand favors.”

William stood in front of the couch, naked from the waist down because he had refused to wear underwear since he had banged his kindergarten teacher way back in third grade. He looked at Andy’s face: that pallid mask of regret and lost hope. Then he said, “I kinda thought we were even since I did that other…..thing for you.”

Andy waved his hand. “That was small potatoes, Billy.”

“No one calls me Billy. Not anymore."

Another puff of the cigarette by Andy. “Bend over, Billy.”

Four hours go by and the cigarette hangs in the air like a loser cloud. William watches sweat drip down the bridge of his nose, making him cross-eyed and half-delirious due to his morbid fear of sweat. He cleared his throat. “So Andy,” he said. “You think we can wrap this up?”

"Jesus Christ, Billy, I’ve never met someone so impatient."

“Stop calling me Billy.”

“I’ll stop calling you Billy when you start acting like a man.”

William sighed. “But you know that’s impossible.”

More cigarette smoke. “Nothing is impossible.” Andy leaned his head forward, getting a face full of sweat. “NOTHING.”

"So Andy"

Copyright: © 2011 Jordan Krall

-----------------------------------

Jason,

Thank you for your submission to The New Flesh but I'm afraid we're going to pass on this one. Please feel free to submit again in the future.

William Pauley III
Editor
THE NEW FLESH



Jason,

Not only am I going to pass on this story but allow me to say a few things about it. First of all, simply writing a play by play of you taking a shit is not a story. It's not even acceptable as an entry in your diary. In addition I want to say that we here at The New Flesh have no room for writers who lower themselves to the level of using toilet humor. We are a strictly a classy operation and our readers expect only the most respectable material around. Finally, I would like to add that referrring to yourself as the Jay-Z of Bizarro fiction in your bio only makes you look like a complete ass. Not only is that absurd way for an artist to describe themself but, in your case, it is totally unfounded.

William Pauley III
Editor
THE NEW FLESH



Jason,

Normally I wouldn't even take the time to respond to this sort of submission but in your case I will make an exception. How the fuck did you think you would get away with simply resubmitting your poop story and using Jordan Krall as a pseudonym? You have been told before that this is not the kind of story that will be published here. And how did you think that we would be fooled by your pen name? IT CAME FROM YOUR E-MAIL! Are you insane? I'm not sure if this is a new form plagiarism you have discovered but you should consider yourself lucky if this doesn't lead to some sort of legal action against you.

William Pauley III
Editor
THE NEW FLESH



Jason,

Please be advised that this e-mail is set aside solely for story submissions. I would be upset that you tried cast a spell on me via e-mail if it hadn't been such a miserable failure. It seems that your lack of writing ability has been eclipsed by your inability to perform magick. And that's saying a lot! You clearly have no powers of sorcery and this is illustrated, for one example, by your inability to even spell any of the names of the Elder Ones correctly.

Also I would add that the sigils you attached show a crude understanding at best of The Necronomicon. I suggest that you not only take a break from writing and spellwork but from life in general and take a long, hard look at yourself before continuing with anything in your life.

William Pauley III
Editor
THE NEW FLESH



Jason,

Your recent idea for a story that is nothing but a series of rejection letters from TNF is a new low even for you. It's such a shoddy story. I refuse to subject my readers to such an obvious gimmick. Let me advise you that a story contains a narrative and this contains none. Well, unless you count this being a chronicling of your swift descent into madness as the narrative, in which case I would suggest you present this story to a psychiatrist rather than to any publisher.

William Pauley III
Editor
THE NEW FLESH



Jason,

Before you even consider submitting to The New Flesh again, please allow me to reject you in advance. Nothing you have ever written or will ever write will be published by me, nor will it be published by anyone anywhere. You may even be the first person to be rejected by a self-publisher. Please take my advice and give up on yourself.

Respectfully,

William Pauley III
Editor
THE NEW FLESH

"Rejected by The New Flesh

-or- Submissions From An Asshole"

Copyright: © 2011 Jason Armstrong

-----------------------------------

Jason Armstrong considers himself to be the Jay-Z of Bizarro fiction.
He spits out stories unlike any other.
He runs the game like he's a Parker Brother.

Lisa Gale. Age eighteen. Captain of the senior varsity volleyball team. She had the body that every boy, man and woman wanted and she knew it, too. After every practice, Lisa would strip the clothing from her body, sometimes pulling her top completely off, just before she’d enter the locker room, just to give the boys in the bleachers a little something to talk about. Lisa loved her body and damn near everyone else who saw it loved it, too. But, as we’ve all been told before, most things are not as they seem.　Lisa’s body is one of those things.

One night, just after practice, Lisa tossed her sweaty clothes in a pile in front of her locker, but as she dropped her arms to her side, a sharp pain pulsated in her left breast.　She walked over to the mirror, kneading her fingers along the pain lines, massaging the ache away. The pain eased. She walked in the shower room, not giving it a second thought.

She squeezed a dab of shampoo into her left palm and gently worked it into her long blonde hair, wrapping the length of it atop her head in a swirl. She washes herself facing away from the showerhead; she had always had a weird phobia of being splashed in the face with water.　It made her feel somewhat claustrophobic, as if she were unable to breathe.　Probably because of some suppressed childhood memory.

She stepped back into the stream of hot water to rinse the lathered shampoo from her hair.　A torrent of water collided with her forehead and branched off into tiny streams.　 The water flowed over her eyes, blinding her. Panic began to set in. She shook her hands violently in the air, desperately trying to dry them so that she could clear the water from her eyes.　In the process, she licked a few of her fingers against the tile wall.

She opened her eyes. That was when she saw it.

Looking straight up at her now was an eyeball, burrowed deep into her left breast and peaking out from a flap of skin where her nipple should have been. She closed her eyes and screamed, but when she opened her eyes again, her nipple had returned and the eyeball was gone. Nervously, she to tried to pry the nipple open again, like an eyelid.　The areola spread apart, revealing the anomalous eyeball underneath.　The flesh strained and forced itself closed once more.

Panicking now, Lisa grabbed a hold of her left breast with both of her hands and squeezed with all of her might.　Her nipple swelled and slowly parted as the eyeball began to surface.　She then placed her right hand directly behind the eyeball and gave her nipple a taut pinch.　Tiny red veins were bursting out from the white skin of the orb, like little baby spiders emerging from their nests.

PLOP.

The eyeball slopped out and rolled slowly to the drain. A tear of blood leaked from the tip of her nipple and traced down her abdomen, finally fading into the water.

Not sparing a second, Lisa checked her right breast and, sure enough, there was another eyeball roosting inside. She squeezed her that breast, just as she had the left, but this eyeball was being stubborn, it refused to come out from its nest.　She pried back the skin of her nipple and dug her fingers deep into the socket.　The eyeball was trying to root itself into her skin through muscles and veins that sprouted out from it’s backside.　She severed all connections with a pinch of her fingernails.　She ripped the second eyeball from her breast and hurled it to the concrete shower floor below. The ball splattered against the ground like an egg before the water washed it away.　The shower drain was tinged pink with her blood.

The other eyeball was now looking up at her from the shower drain. She shrieked and stomped it down the pipe, squishing it through the tiny hole of the drain cover. Gooey bits of eye-flesh gobbed up in-between each of her toes. She ran out of the shower and back into the locker room. She quickly dried herself off. She wanted to get home as quickly as possible. As she was drying off her legs, the lips from between her thighs began to growl.

"Blink"

Copyright: © 2010 William Pauley III

-------------------------------------

 

Originally published on Flashes in the Dark 12/01/2009

ANNOUNCEMENT...

Hello New Flesh Followers,

Suzie here. It was a difficult decision but I'm afraid I will be leaving The New Flesh as an editor, but certainly not as a fan. I
had to get a real job...boooooo. I know. I know. But it's one I've been after for a while things aren't so bad. Most of you probably know how much I adore III (Billy/Will/William) and his family... he is truly one of the good guys and an absolute treasure to work with. And a good friend. The man's rocking some serious talent. So we will always stay in touch. Goodbye to all you fleshy New Fleshers... I wish you all bizarre and haunted nightmares! Long live The New Flesh!!

Always a fan, 

Suzie Bradshaw


* * *

 
Hey everyone,

It's me III (William Pauley III). I just wanted to take a second to say that I was very sad to hear that Suzie is leaving TNF. When I first started this site a year ago, I honestly didn't know what the hell I was doing. All I knew was that I wanted to have a site that was a lot like the other great flash fiction sites (Flashes in the Dark, MicroHorror, etc),but I wanted to specialize in bizarre or weird fiction.  Getting the site started was much more difficult than I had anticipated, but somehow I managed to get this place set up on a sturdy base.

After a few months, however, 'real life' began to get in the way of my new projects, so I thought it was time to find a second editor. Suzie Bradshaw was my first choice. I always have enjoyed her weird little tales and on top of that she was always reading fiction and leaving feedback for the authors on several websites. I would read her feedback and found that I always agreed with her comments. I immediately knew that Suzie would make a great partner-in-crime for The New Flesh.

In the seven months that Suzie has been with TNF, she has brought in an incredible amount of talent and her story selections have helped us grow to have nearly 200 followers.  
 
And now, Suzie's 'real life' is asking for her back. As sad as it is to see her go, I completely understand her decision and wish her the best of luck with her new job. Suzie is a wonderful person and we are great friends. She knows that she always has a home here at TNF.  I cannot tell you how much she will be missed.

Goodbye, my friend, and good luck. :)

So what's going to happen now? Well, as I mentioned earlier, running this site by myself has proven to be overwhelming for me in the past, so TNF will have a new co-editor starting today. Most of you won't be surprised by who I asked to take that position, because of our partnership in other projects over the last couple of years. The awesomely-talented Brian Barnett will be the new co-editor here at The New Flesh!

Brian is a great friend, a pleasure to work with, and a reader favorite here at TNF, so it really was a no-brainer to ask him if he wanted the job. I am very excited to have Brian onboard this crazy cruise of weirdos we call The New Flesh!

Writers: please do your best to freak 'the new guy' out! ;)

We have a great story that will be posted tomorrow - just you know, we will continue posting stories as usual. I do want to mention though that submissions are low at the moment, so if you got 'em, send 'em!

And remember...

KEEP IT WEIRD.

III

Our little girl has grown up so fast! Can you believe this is really happening?!

I can hardly remember the days when she was young. The only memory that surfaces now is the time when she had cut off all of her hair. I was so upset with her! I shouldn’t have yelled at her the way I did, though. I regret that now. I regret it all now.

I’ll be the first to admit, I wasn’t the greatest father. I wish I was around more, but my job demanded so much of my time. I wish she could see that I was only trying to provide for you and her. I only wanted the best for you both. I know it was difficult on you, raising her alone. I know she demanded more attention than it was possible for you to give. I don’t blame you for all the arguments; I know bringing her up was strenuous. Now your body suffers for it. I am truly sorry.

She needed me! She needed her father! I wish I would have enjoyed being a father while I still had the chance.

She has your beautiful green eyes. She lays them on the table, then begins to dig out mine.

"EyeScream"
Copyright: © 2009 William Pauley III

----------------------------------

EyeScream first published at Microhorror.com July 29,2009

Ah, finally you are alone. I have been waiting for this moment for quite some time now. I hope that I am not interrupting your reading. After all, I know that The New Flesh has become a regular ritual in your everyday routine. Although I have waited for what seems like ages to tell you what I am about to tell you, I promise I won’t take much of your time.

I am a demon. It matters not my name or my misdeed, all you need to know is my punishment: I have been damned to the confines of your CPU.

Why you? Well, you know better than me that you take pleasure in suffering. You love to hear stories of terror and death. Deep down, you enjoy imminent doom. Don’t you?

You laugh? Is this amusing to you? The walls in here are thin, my friend. Keep this in mind as we continue our conversation. What I need from you is your cooperation.

I need you to reach down and eject your CD-ROM tray. My body is quite thin and I believe I can manage to wriggle myself out. Just. Push. The. Button. What are you waiting for?

Imbecile! You pork-faced coward! Yellow, you are! Tell me, when you read these stories, how do you keep from pissing your pants? I just ask of you this one single task! I will leave and you will never hear from me again! Just push the button!

I can see that we are getting nowhere. I will leave you be. But know this, do not ever turn this computer off! These electric walls are the only thing keeping my talons from your throat! So for now, continue with your stories, but do not forget! Never forget, because I promise you that I will not!

Consider this my only warning.

"Archfiend Inside"
Copyright: © 2009 William Pauley III
---------------------------------

Originally published at Microhorror on May 10, 2009

I had a migraine that day. A terrible, terrible migraine. My brain was a ticking time bomb that would never explode. It just kept ticking and ticking and ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

The origin of the pain seemed to be the five sections of vertebrae that lay between my neck and shoulders. I took a hot shower thinking somehow it could stop the pain. I lay in the tub and let the water pour down on me from above, soaking into and pruning my skin. I was an old man then, so I don’t know what that makes me now.

Then the pain kicked and ripped apart my brain. I felt the prying fingers of a fucking ape! The bastard was spreading apart the deep folds of my brain looking for mites, lice or any other vermin that may be living down inside. Pain radiated from the bones in my neck like a thousand volts of electricity! I reacted quickly and took a hold of my head with both hands. I twisted my skull with a violent rage! I was going to kill that fucking ape! But then I heard it.

POP!

I heard the terrible sound of vertebrae slipping, shifting, snapping. Then the world went dark.
Blindness wasn’t the only thing that furious pop brought me that day, it also paralyzed my entire body. Every nerve inside of me shut off, like I had blown a goddamn fuse. From that day on I’ve been nothing but a lump.

A Spanish woman named Penelope takes care of me. She was sent by the goddamn government to spy on me! I didn’t file my taxes for the year 1978 and they’ve been following me ever since. She steals from me! I can hear her quietly going through my things and the jingle-jangle of her oversized purse as she scrambles for the door. That whore! She feeds me too much! I am a fat bloated pig now because of her! Every bit of 500 pounds! She’s trying to kill me!

In the twenty years that I’ve been this fucking lump of flesh and bone, I have nearly forgotten the beauty of the world. Colors have faded from memory; I can only truly remember the colors purple and red. Penelope may as well be tooth or nail, I would never know the difference.

Sometimes she leaves me here alone when she thinks I am asleep. When the house is empty, I can hear for miles. I can hear children playing at a playground a block away. I can hear neighbors walking their dogs. But today there is none of that.

It’s storming. I’m not talking about a little rain, I’m talking about the types of storms that hurricanes are made of!

Thunder booms and shakes the foundation of my home. For a split second the vibrations allow me to move again! The thunder sends a shock so powerful through my body that my muscles actually contract! I wait for the next crack of the whip. The next booming thunder is twice as effective as the one before! My neck slings forward like a catapult, landing face first on my pillowy chest.

With all of the excitement of moving, I hardly notice my breathing is limited, sucking in tufts of skin more than air. A third cracking thunder hurls my body forward and sends me tumbling to the floor below, my neck folding under.

In these last few seconds of life I am happy, finally remembering all the colors of the world.

"The Lump"

Copyright: © 2009 William Pauley III