E
Apr/May 1999

e c l e c t i c a   f i c t i o n

Fiction


Mrs. Boylan, Widowed
"It was the Samson boy," I said. "He did it."
"Of course." Hazel nodded and considered the matter closed.

Richard K. Weems

Symmetry
Every winter kids drowned in the freezing waters of the Sandy River; in summer they jumped off the overhanging rocks and got caught in its currents. Their bodies were always recovered, just as Jack's had been. The river, never possessive, gave up its dead.
Evelyn Sharenov

The Storm
The baby continued to cry. "Sounds like the little one don't like the thunder." She took a sip from her glass. "You never liked the thunder much when you were little, either," she stated. "I guess that's changed."
Paul E. Haslup

Ukrainamerica
What is it that makes fathers get this way? He was acting more and more desperate and saying awkward things wherever he went. Neighbors were stopping by and asking me, "Why does Alex say our souls are flying away?"
Paul A. Toth

Personal Assets
The coffee was ready and Irwin shuffled into the kitchen for a mug. He always drank two cups in the morning, partly for the pick up and partly for the salutary effect the hot liquid had on his intestines, which uncoiled with Swiss precision five minutes after the last drop passed his lips.
Adam Marcus

 

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