Category: Fiction
-
The Patient by Milana Oliveri
They called him The Patient. He was a man who promised himself “one more time” and didn’t know why. One more cigarette after work. One more shot while he gambled one more bet. One more missed call that he’d explain later, when he had the energy to sound like someone…
-
Magic, Repose, Cosmos,Hummingbird & Contemplating by Jim Bates
Magic The morning was so quiet you could hear the bees buzzingYou could almost hear the butterfly’s wings fluttering tooThe sun was floating low in the eastSuspended like an orb of soft rosy hueA walker out strolling slowed his pace to a crawlSoaking in the peaceful presence and the magic…
-
The Wall by Sarah Dawson-Moroz
The crows squawk as the blue-white light of morning pierces through the cracks in the curtains. I squint sleepily at the light, wondering why I was so insistent on buying curtains with scalloped edges for the baby’s room. The windows are too wide for this type of artsy decor; the…
-
Midnight Haunts by Tyler Baigrie
waking up to grey faces hovering over you saying,you’re too old for this aren’t you?too young to ask these questionsand too old to want these answers. you’re too old for this aren’t you?we know you know but your feet don’t movelike they used to anymore and your brain doesn’tstart like…
-
Two Small Town Girls That Dressed Up for Wednesday by Jonathan Ferrini
My flight from JFK landed in Albuquerque well after dark, just in time to learn that the last connection to Phoenix had been canceled. Waiting until morning wasn’t an option because my daughter was scheduled for cancer surgery, and after missing the chance to say goodbye to my dying wife…
-
At the Corridor by Hamdiye Etlan
I remember my lies, sir.The quotes I stole.That’s the reason for the dimness of my eyes,the emptiness inside me. I lie, yes, sirthen I write them down here, without care.I call them “things I do” but“lies I told”I should call them. You’re trying to help.But I doubt that, too.I don’t…
-
Parched by Tushar Sen
A bomb fell—like a rogue kite,stringless, nameless,aiming nothing, claiming everything.Blisters on that body—like boils on bubble wrap,waiting, bursting, multiplying. The place hissed,like a silenced furnacebreathing through broken walls.In the market square,a skull lay atop a fountain,choked with blood—to ward off the spiritsof those who died a “natural death.” Fresh rubble,still…
-
Tornadoes Can’t Hurt Us on Wednesdays by Francis Felix Rosa
Twigs snapped underfoot as he trudged towards a patch of thistles and milkweed huddled down the slope. Stalks reached up, cracking open the robin’s-egg blue sky, and fronds loomed, forging a place of dark shade and silence. It made Tanner jumpy, but that was nothing new. The jumpiness was a…
-
The Last Memory by M.G. Allan
Anna Vanderhoof turned her head on the pillow and saw herself standing by the bed. Not herself as she was now, old and frail and bedridden, but a ghost of her younger self. The flaming red hair and color-filled cheeks, sparkling green eyes and strong straight posture of her…