Apr/May 2013

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f i c t i o n


(These are excerpts—click on the title to view the whole piece!)

One Night in the Comfort Inn

Outside of 219, someone is looking in; he feels the eyes against his cheek like fingertips. When he turns, he sees a kid, five or six, towheaded and wearing Notre Dame's gold and blue. The boy's toes touch the line dividing inside from outside, but he is leaning forward, and his head enters the room to look around. Sam smiles and lifts his hand.

Holly Teresa Baker

Hide or Don't Exist

I've worked for Shrigley for almost five years now, and we've never found any skunk apes or bigfoot or yetis or anything. In fact, hardly anybody's ever found anything in the history of cryptozoology.

Nico Vreeland

Delicate Shards

I cavort unbound back and forth, back and forth. The beat of the music thumps loudly through the floor, pounding up through my legs and into my spine. He looks at me. I am inside the bubble now.

Carla J. Dow

In Real Life

I don't know what they want. Anyone. I'm 80, look 70, so what, big deal. Who wants to be 70? I get up four to six times a night to urinate, and I could conk out any moment with a second heart attack. Or a stroke. Likely a stroke this time.

Grant Flint

Creeping Charlie

Wonder when you became the kind of girl who caves so easily. Acknowledge that it feels natural, a relief, even, like pulling the branch of creeping charlie from the flower garden, the slight resistance of the roots before it finally gives way.

Emily Burke

The Church of Laughter

Though we shared a common goal, the angle of our attacks varied. A sense of humor is like a fingerprint, and though two may resemble one another to a staggering degree there are always minute differences that make them discernible.

Jeremy Schliewe

Milk Maid

He loves the whiteness of the milk, and I pretend to agree because it's easier, but staring at its nothingness makes my eyes ache morning after morning. The white of the milk is so different from the dirty white patches slapped haphazardly on the cow's backs, which remind me of a smudged jigsaw.

Carla J. Dow

Ashes to Ashes We All Fall Down: a Novella

And Mom didn't make him any dearer to me when she offered up my mattress for him to sleep on and made me give up my little fling at luxury to perch along the crack between that mattress and Southy Jack's. Specially since Harry was smelling about as rank as bad fish in the sun and snoring off a mean, hard drunk.

William Reese Hamilton