Category: Short Story
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If the Men in My Life Had Thoughts by Abbey Comey
I want to talk to Sloane, but I don’t want her to think that I’m asking her on a date, so I ask her to come with me to get my tetanus shot. I had my last one when I was nine, and I can I I still remember how…
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The Goal of All Life by Eliot Rite
A stain of chemicals and a pound of flesh are all it takes to enter. Such a fee is marginal as the true cost is time. As days swell to weeks in a trimester or three they burst out on all fours sleeping at the starting line, awaiting the cord…
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Oh Where, Oh Where Has Our Little Boy Gone? by Eileen Sateriale
This piece was selected in honor of Veteran’s Day and all of the men and women who lost their lives in defense of this country’s honor. “The Secretary of Defense informs you that Corporal Bruce Graham is missing in action. Last seen, Seoul, South Korea, March 8, 1953,” said the…
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Waves by Casey Shelley
Waves rock the boat back and forth: they’re used to it. Tired eyes are a reminder that this is far from the first wedding they’ve attended. “How much longer, Dave?” Kate places her bare hand on top of his “I can’t take much more.” “Just a little more,…
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Orange Juice by Jim Bates
“Damn you, Eric!” I yelled. “Quit being such a jerk!” I knew I shouldn’t swear but, hell (sorry), he had pushed it too far. All morning long my older brother had been teasing me, calling names like elephant ears and dog breath, giving me wedgies and, in general, making…
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Mercy for Miss Bint by Sandra Arnold
All twelve of us were in Mercy’s room lounging on her bed when the new housekeeper strode in without knocking and introduced herself. We clamped our lips and nodded, blank-face polite. But as soon as she marched out again and slammed the door behind her we collapsed into hysterical laughter.…
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Would They Even Want to? by Joseph R. Goodall
The walls of the Gunther house rattled as if a herd of cattle was stampeding through their Denver cul-de-sac. The burning sun had not yet shown its face as four pairs of feet scuttled along the wooden floors, running to and from the SUV in the driveway. The parents and…
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My Last Kid’s Table by Alan Brickman
Last Thanksgiving, I swore that it would be the last time I sat at the kids table. The vagaries of fertility, birth rates, and parental callings within my extended family had left me, at fifteen, the youngest teenager and the oldest “kid.” When we sat for dinner last year, I…
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Dreams of a Steam Train by Patrick T. Webb
Every second Saturday in the summer, No. 27, “Old Green,” ventured out of the museum under the parking garage. She crawled along with three turquoise coaches to the downtown hotels, past the sailor memorial statue in the square, down the green line to the beach under the catenary wire. She…