Fiction

Fiction

issue 23

Featured
A Fine Young Man
A Fine Young Man

The office of Mr. Peter Jameson, manager of the country club, reeks of authority. Dark wood walls. Marble-top desk. Hovering indoor tree, most likely fake. Mr. Jameson speaks to us with a hint of apology, referring to Zander’s confusion about what is and isn’t allowed.

Old Meats and No Service
Old Meats and No Service

Rayan hasn’t slept. Last night, as he scraped wiry hairs from his chin with a straight razor before his chipped and frameless bathroom mirror, two chimes rang through his apartment: the first from his microwave, announcing his dinner of pre-buttered popcorn, and the second from his laptop, waiting open on the standing desk that doubles as his kitchen table.

Celebrants
Celebrants

We filed out of the cab at 7 p.m. sharp, cradling lukewarm bottles of Sauvignon Blanc, store-bought eclairs transferred to porcelain platters, cold cuts smothered in cling film.

Woundwood
Woundwood

I was finishing up a late-night pee when I heard the tinkle of glass smashing downstairs. Then, the patio door, sliding open with its customary squeal. I rushed back to the bedroom and shook Sean, the snore catching in his throat.

issue 22

Featured
The Night Watcher
The Night Watcher

I see you: small, upright, and kneeling on the sky-blue crinkles of the knock-off Donald Duck duvet passed down to you from your cousin.

Teams
Teams

“Are you using an external camera?”

“I’m not.” Maureen grits her teeth. She clicks things and jabs keys. God, whyyy? She checked last night and the camera was working fine. She thinks it was.

Sanctuary
Sanctuary

On May 8, 1902, a sailor named Matteo di Battista watches from a ship off the coast of Martinique as a catastrophe unfolds.

How Hauntings Happen
How Hauntings Happen

They met. You don’t lie, hit, or trick, she said. You don’t gamble, he said. Not at all like I’m used to, they thought. They married.

Frosted Glass
Frosted Glass

The sky was flat. And white. It looked like frosted glass. Adaline had always hated frosted glass.

A Doll’s Fingerprints
A Doll’s Fingerprints

At first, my husband Lou was akin to a saint carried in a procession. Back then, I didn’t know how to occupy the dark, especially when it was stretched out.

issue 21

Featured
Trouble Child
Trouble Child

There was a priest at the door. He was young and jubilant. His hair was close-cut to his head, which struck Roman as odd because most of the priests he’d seen in his life had no hair at all. He hadn’t realized young guys still did this. It seemed old-fashioned, a dying breed. 

Fingers, Penny, Pocket
Fingers, Penny, Pocket

She is Fingers. Actual fingers. Bending at the knuckle to grasp a penny on the concrete; lifting back up.

Thunderbird Boutique
Thunderbird Boutique

Jimmy grabs his shit like it’s an evacuation and stuffs it in the nearest bag. Shirt, boxers, socks, Gravity’s Rainbow, toothbrush, and small body spray, the brand that brings in the ladies in waves, wet and ready for action, or so the relentless commercials during Sportscenter claim.

Not The Tulips I Was Expecting
Not The Tulips I Was Expecting

In late October, I plant the bulbs, excavating dirt with my trowel. Soil, my mom corrects me, not dirt.

Tell Me A Story
Tell Me A Story

Tell me a story, Pap.

issue 20

Featured
The Man in the Window Seat
The Man in the Window Seat

He pinches and pulls at the pictures on his phone, deciphering them like code. Every now and then he gets distracted and focuses on a background: a pair of boots, a fancy car. But mostly he studies the face, as if he’s preparing to write a dissertation comparing it to the Mona Lisa.

Softly They Fall
Softly They Fall

The distant hum of an approaching vehicle cuts through the quiet of Westmore, Vermont. It vibrates off the frozen midnight air, air that is charged and heavy with soon-to-fall snow, air that holds more promise than the mess of metal and wire in front of me.

Oyster City Under Water
Oyster City Under Water

Morning dawns gunwale gray and wet in Oyster City. The hurricane, first a roar in the night, then a howl, now a whisper of sea spray over the coast, barrels farther inland. Curtains of rain hang in the silence between gusts. The city stirs, ready to probe its wounds.

The Onion
The Onion

The mayonnaise has not been made.

As the onion contemplates how long it will be until someone notices that the mayonnaise has not been made, it sees Chef Doyle trying not to cry.

issue 19

Featured
Too Far
Too Far

She had been off in Australia, and quare places after that, for about twenty years. She only came home for her parents’ funeral. Carbon monoxide poisoning, like the canary in the ad. There was no carbon monoxide poisoning long ‘go ‘cos there was plenty draughts in every house.

Barb Refused to Burn
Barb Refused to Burn

She was short and thick, with dry, bloodshot eyes and skin as white as the belly of a fish. Even when she was crying—which was often—tears rarely came. She’d rub the backs of her hands into her eyes until they reddened, and if she ever did tear up it wouldn’t last long. She did this a lot, this dry-eyed crying and eye rubbing.

Investing in a Jojo or Little Edgar
Investing in a Jojo or Little Edgar

So, a child is like an investment, you see? First you establish a partnership with your other (spouse, mate, lover, etc.), and then you start saving. And you save and you save until you feel like your partnership has established a foundation—both an emotional foundation and a financial foundation—that can support a child.

Toy Surprise
Toy Surprise

The toy surprise at the bottom of the cereal box turned out not to be a fidget spinner or packet of magic markers, or miniaturized plastic batting helmet, but a message in a bottle, a very small bottle, formerly a bottle containing Tabasco sauce, and now containing the scrawled missive of an unknown madman.

About Leander
About Leander

“I guess we should talk about Leander.” She’s cute in a ruddy cheeked, outdoorsman sort of way. Not the type of woman I picture with my husband.

issue 18

Featured
The Childe Gordon Report
The Childe Gordon Report

1. Preliminary Report, with notes and “eyes-only” material, including recovered communications, from the days prior to the incident which has come to the attention of so many, submitted by Sr. Volunteer Patrol Officer Childe Gordon, BS Criminal Justice Theory, BA English Lit, Bonito Beach PD.

Lavelle’s Heart
Lavelle’s Heart

Pearson stretched out at the hospital picnic table. His eyes forward. His hair slicked back. His new heart pumping, pumping, pumping.

Wallowa
Wallowa

What kind of world was it, Dave wondered, where a woman could put herself above a man?

issue 17

Featured
death became them
death became them

Plenty of folks in town had died at all ages and all times of day or night, some gruesome, some passive, and every one of them referred to afterward as having been ‘too good’ or ‘too young’, or on rare occasions both.

war birds
war birds

GI Joe

1945 

The trucks parade down Constitution Avenue. I have practiced the steely glint in my eye, holding my beak parallel to the horizon regardless of the rumbling engine. On my right rises the august sandstone of the Smithsonian, an institution one might take pride in, except I know the basements are filled with the feathers of vanished birds.

the path of the spine
the path of the spine

Ksjhe was trying to sleep but the smoke from the fires was everywhere. He went to his computer and tried to appease it by typing fire, fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire into the box. I see you. I see you fire. I smell you fire. I will keep you away by calling your name. You do not need to come any closer because I know who you are.

souvenir
souvenir

She’s standing in line at the registration table when she sees him, two writers ahead. Sun-spritzed brown hair, strong hands. A hint of crow’s feet indicating he’s maybe fortysomething. No wedding ring. When he leans over the table to sign a form, she admires his pen, a Montblanc, shiny black with its signature bloom of snow at the top.