Tea with Old Friends By Jonathan Ferrini

          It was a weekly treat for me to attend an elegant, afternoon, “High Tea” at the beautiful “Mark Hopkins Hotel” after church services across the street. The “Mark” held a commanding view of San Francisco from its location atop Nob Hill and provided a beautiful view of the iconic bridge, bay, and city below.           I was…

Read More

Songs for Pretty Girls By Nic Nichols

           In each home, each city, and each ending, she had a post. But now that she’d settled in the Deep South, the nights had heart and soul. Though the thick glass windows were to be always shut and locked, the midnight hum carried through. She sometimes wondered if the music was also one-sided. If the…

Read More

Dried Out Baby By Will Musgrove

           Baby skinned the coyote’s mate. Good riddance, he thought as he tossed the bloody gray pelt onto the dry brush. A dozen feet away, his fellow brewers—out of necessity—waited for him around a fire, where they sampled each other’s moonshine recipes and their stomachs rumbled like the missing thunder.           Baby, who had shot at the dog-like…

Read More

A Short, Unreceived, Love Letter

My mother always knows when I’m in love. Whenever she sees that I’m slowly drowning in the waves of infatuation, she stops talking, letting me decide whether I want to sink or swim. This time, I choose to sink because you’re too beautiful, I must get lost. Others can tell that there’s something—someone—I’m dreaming of,…

Read More

Death Witch by Leon Clifford

Once upon a time, there was a magnificent five bedroom, tastefully refurbished, inter-war, detached home with two ensuites, and double garage situated within bullseye of the Tudor Grange catchment. The house was equidistant from the train station and Solihull Town Center, short enough for a latte cooling stroll. One half term Tuesday midnight, two nitwit…

Read More

A virtual Version

Mind controlled husks of humans surround me. Consumed with the imaginary world, reality exists differently for each individual. People communicate through intangible means. Everyone is stuck in their own mind; they don’t notice those around them. Even now, when I cry, no one sees my tears because they’re not looking. Neither am I. I’m led…

Read More