The Fabulist

Fables, yarns, tall tales, literary fantasy & science fiction.
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Slub Glub Chapter Five: ‘In Search of Wayward Raccoons’

Posted on June 20th, 2010
"Thieves?" Slub Glub queried. "Furry thieves on four legs! That's who's making us cry," one of the willow trees moaned, and the other tress joined in with more piteous wailing. The youngest ...
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Slub Glub Chapter Four: ‘Sad and Salty Streams’

Posted on June 13th, 2010
From his treetop Slub Glub saw a mass of weeping willow trees crying hysterically; their overflowing tears appeared to be the cause of the recent deluge. A group of about a ...
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Slub Glub Chapter Three: ‘Too Many Teeth’

Posted on June 6th, 2010
Slub Glub slid downhill fast, bumping right into the coconut tree that he was searching for, and in doing so managed to dislodge a coconut from beneath one of its giant fronds. The ...
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Slub Glub in the Weird World of the Weeping Willows: 2

Posted on May 30th, 2010
By Andrew Goldfarb Chapter Two: The Worm's-Eye View "Hmmph. Watch where you flop there, fatty," said the disagreeable worm. "It's not my fault. I've been evicted," said Slub Glub, getting up and dusting himself ...
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Slub Glub in the Weird World of the Weeping Willows: 1

Posted on May 23rd, 2010
By Andrew Goldfarb Chapter One: The Hideous Shrieking of the Rising Sun On Tuesday of last week, Slub Glub was awoken from his peaceful slumbers by the hideous shrieking of the rising Sun. ...
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Losing His Head

Posted on October 30th, 2009
by Michael C. Keith Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him . . . —William Shakespeare To the outside world Jerry Farelli appeared to have everything life could offer: good looks, excellent health, and ...
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Chimerae: Three Self-Portraits

Posted on October 30th, 2009
Images by David Goldberg [Proofreader's Note: What is the self but a fantastical amalgamation of ideas, inclinations and elements that nonetheless function, generally, as a complete whole? In a similar vein, Goldberg's self-portraits ...
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Incident at Oscuro

Posted on October 16th, 2009
by Steve Moore She was laying on the edge of the road with her head a good foot past the white line. At first, Tennessee thought that she must've been a large dog; ...

Finding me hesitant, the daffodils fall back

Posted on September 30th, 2009
By Holly Day         Finding Me hesitant, the daffodils fall back as if they know their kind is alien here, in the preserved greenstone steppes once home to trilobites and scaly invertebrate worms. only the hardiest flowers grow here, those that can ...