Larks Monthly Review, March 2012

By Daniel Pool

From the best of the best in independent literature comes Larks Monthly. This collection of the Larks Fiction Magazine brings you the month of March 2012 with Benjamin Kensey, John Quentin Pongratz, Fred Hilary, Tom Sheehan, Jerry Guarino, Kerry Lown Whalen, Alexander Bryant, Kieran Woodhall, Jessica Rowse.

From young and old, every corner of the world, and every background of life comes stories about life, love, revenge, time travel, demon school mistresses, and innocent bystanders!

For the best in independent literature read Larks!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Pool
• Release date: May 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301187683

Daniel Pool

Daniel Pool received a doctorate in political science from Brandeis University and a law degree from Columbia University. He lives in New York City.

Book preview

Larks Monthly Review March 2012

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Published by Larks Media

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Smashwords Edition

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Copyright 2012 Daniel J. Pool

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

Cover photo by Jessica Rowse, What’Chu Looking At?

About the Artist;

Jessica Rowse is a poet and librarian from the Southern Mid-West. She loves taking photos but hates being in them. Her ambition is to be romance writer and crazy old cat lady.

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From the Desk of the Editor(s)

Thank you for purchasing this electronic Smashwords edition of Larks Fiction Magazine! We strive to publish only the best rising stars of modern literature. Thank you for your support of independent arts.

In this 2012 March Issue we are showcasing works by young and old, established and just starting out, and (most of all) talented writers. No matter their walk of life—the artist creates to be seen, heard, read, felt, (sometimes smelled) but most of all communicated.

So from all of us at Larks, we hope you enjoy the works here within and that you will check out our online weekly publication as well as some of our other emagazines.

Yours (and best wishes),

Daniel (& Jessica)

LFM Editor(s)

Table of Contents

Issue Ten

Kieran Woodhall

Alexander Bryant

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Issue Eleven

Kerry Lown Whalen

Jerry Guarino

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Issue Twelve

Fred Hilary

Tom Sheehan

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Issue Thirteen

John Quentin Pongratz

Benjamin Kensey

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Issue Ten

A Little Trouble

Kieran Woodhall

By Aratutr’s fire, what have you done?

I froze in mid-step; my eyes quickly scanned the room. The upturned wooden table, its legs turned skyward. The bottles that had once called the table home now lay shattered against the floor, their oddly coloured concoctions soaking into the freshly mad paper carpet. The paper that made the carpet had once belonged to the now destroyed library that had sat on the shelves of the bookcase in the corner. My eyes moved to the other side of the room, to the scorched and blackened stone wall. The empty ingredients shelf, its contents littered over the floor. My eyes quickly glanced over the headless chicken that hung from the stone rafters. I caught a glimpse of a shadow disappearing into the darker edges of the stone ceiling.

I turned full circle to face professor Ledwick. The professor was a short fellow with a large head, much of which was taken up by his white bushy beard. His beard was long enough to almost be his equivalent in size, although that wasn’t exactly a difficult task. His large owl like eyes were staring down his long beak of a nose at me, while his pointed ears poked through his thinning snowy hair and over the top of his head.

Well? Despite his wrinkled face his voice was young with only a hint of the dry papery sound of age.

I can explain, I swear.

Really? one bushy white eyebrow rose the considerable length of his head. Everything?

Yes.

Including the headless chicken?

Possibly?

And be completely blameless. I opened my mouth to speak but he beat me to it. Without lying.

Well now you’re just being unreasonable.

The old man smiled at me like a granddad would smile at his amusing grandchildren.

Let’s have it then, before age claims both of us.

I took in a deep breath in preparation for my long explanation. Unfortunately at the same time that I opened my mouth to take a breath is the same time that an unnoticed berblic cone, that had somehow become heated, released its foul smelling fog.

The foul stench of krul dung, rotten eggs, troll’s sweat and the faint aroma of strawberries, clung to my nostrils and filled my mouth. The smell was potent enough that I could taste each individual smell; I should also point out that I can’t stand the taste of strawberries. My eyes watered as I gagged on the disgusting smell, my gagging caused more of the revolting smelling vapours to clog my lungs. The professor watched me while he used his sleeve to cover his mouth and nose, whether to protect them from the smell or to hide his smirk I couldn’t tell.

With watery eyes, I ran past the professor, past the small but cosy rooms until I got outside. Once I was out in the fresh country air I began taking deep breaths and coughing up the thick smog that fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. The professor followed me out at a slower pace, laughing.

Well that was certainly interesting. He patted me on the back in an attempt to clear my lungs. Now are you going to explain how exactly all of that happened?

I waited until the last of the fog hit the floor before speaking. Well when I was cleaning the rafters I accidently disturbed a mischief goblin.

The professor laughed a deep laugh that rose from the very bottom of a man’s belly. After a few seconds he stopped laughing and gave me a bemused look.

You really expect me to believe that a mischief goblin caused all that? Give me some credit boy I know about mischief goblins and they wouldn’t do that, they wouldn’t find any fun it that. He paused. Unless… what did you say to it?

It was my time to pause but I knew I had to face it. I sort of called it short and then it got angry.

By the Gods boy! You got a mischief goblin angry? Are you aware how hard it is to get rid of an angry mischief goblin?

I know, I know. I’m sorry.

The professor shook his head but his mouth was still turned up at the corners in a half-hearted smile.

If there ever was a son of Lisron you are it.

I smiled myself at that. I had always taken being called the son of the God of trouble as a compliment.

The End… for Now

About the Author:

Kieran Woodhall is a sixth form student currently living in