E
Jul/Aug 2002

e c l e c t i c a   f i c t i o n

Fiction


(Click on the title to view the whole story!)

Bulk
 
This man I have, he is a hunk of man. He knows that we are each allotted space in this universe, and he uses his to its maximum capacity, plus any extra that people around him fail to fill.  
 
Keleigh Friedrich

 

Man in the Mirror
 
Joan and I became lovers around 11 on a Saturday night, in her bed, near a window covered by a white lace curtain. We grappled beneath a massive antique framed engraving of the city of Venice with its gondolas, duomos and campaniles.  
 
John Palcewski

 

How to Get Over Therapy
 
After ten minutes, he will get impatient. He'll say, "I don't think this is what you want to get out of therapy." Consider telling him: I don't want to get anything out of therapy, I don't need therapy, especially from some nerd like you, so leave me alone, thank you very much. Don't, of course, say anything.  
 
Sara Penrod

 

Fault Lines
 
It's hard not to love a child, especially one that lives with you, that you feed and buy clothes for—one who looks to you for protection and attention. And, he is my wife's child from her previous marriage. I love her, and as these things go, I love the things she loves.  
 
Alan Arthur Drew

 

Pelagro
 
He'd pin crazy hopes on an Exacta or even a Trifecta, where you have to call the first, second, and third-place horses, in the order that they finish. It never worked.  
 
D.A. Taylor

 

Danny Devito and Me
 
Mary, who had once been on the way to becoming my best friend, had a theory that everything can be divided into twos. For instance, there are two types of people in the world, she said, those who liked the Stones and those who liked the Beatles. The smell of gasoline and the smell of tar.  
 
Elan Kesilman

 

Deterioration
 
Most often, my wife and I fight about the small and seemingly trivial things. She thinks that I don't pay enough attention to our children. The children, I always wind up telling her, don't need to be doted on by me. They are babied enough by you.  
 
C.A. Long

 

The Last Rail-Rider
 
I would sit outside the smokehouse at night and stare at the rail station, at the lengths of untended boxcars and engines, and long to climb inside and ride. It took a month of wishing to build the nerve, and I came to a decision: Givens would always be my home. I would ride the Blue Line out, see the world, and return in its belly to my smokehouse.  
 
Jason Gurley

 

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