Two Stories

Fiction by

I’m sorry about the things I said when I thought the world was ending The morning after the end was supposed to happen, I woke up in the bunker I made for us. On the surface cameras there was still nothing. Just the woods and the wind and everything going along as it always had.More

Three Things

Three Things

Fiction by

This morning, after the Sheriff and two state investigators left his office carrying sealed boxes, the man did not return home—instead, he drove to a neighboring town and bought three things: Dancing shoes. A hamburger. A shotgun. The dancing shoes he delivered to his daughter whom he would never see again. The hamburger he ateMore

Cats and Dogs

Cats and Dogs

Fiction by

I saw a cat give birth today at my buddy Anthony’s apartment in Logan Square. Her name is Nezumi. Anthony named her. I found her and gave her to him. It was the dead of winter and me and my girlfriend, Rosa, were walking home from the semi-truck mechanic shop our bands practice in, downMore

Black Licorice Memory

Black Licorice Memory

Fiction by

Because my regular toothpaste tastes like black licorice, brushing my teeth every night brings back childhood memories of me sitting with my grandfather in his den, he in the La-Z-Boy, I on the couch with a handful of black licorice jellybeans. The reason I can have this recall of memory, that is, the reason myMore

When Things Break

When Things Break

Fiction by

They woke up to a puddle on the kitchen floor. The seal on the freezer door broke. Since they weren’t allowing people in the house, they couldn’t call a professional. But he assured her he could fix it on his own. It was a matter of pride. First, he emptied the contents of the freezer.More

Cowboy Rooster, Rooster Cowboy

Cowboy Rooster, Rooster Cowboy

Fiction by

Rooster tipped back his slouch hat and chomped down on the American Spirit between his beak. It was a hot one down in San Miguel, a lot like the year he slummed in the cockfighting dens of Pamplona. It ruffled his feathers, gave him some character. Not like now. Some birds won’t scratch around untilMore

The Afterlife

The Afterlife

Fiction by

Gary stands by the side of the road that killed his wife. At least, he can imagine this is the road. Rickety tuk-tuks leave contrails of greasy exhaust. Mopeds bear down, brushing close, deliberate acts of disregard. Students. They ride in sandals or even bare feet, helmetless, alongside cars, trucks, and tuk-tuks, all competing toMore

Batting Practice Apocalypse

Batting Practice Apocalypse

Fiction by

As the sun rises, the rays brush Mickey’s neck and reveal a raw impression left by the belt. A premature scar, fighting for life. The skin has the texture of used chewing gum stretched to the point of tearing. Bronson hopes it will fade soon, so he can stop looking at it, so Mickey willMore

The Diamond Ghosts of the Southern Plains

The Diamond Ghosts of the Southern Plains

Fiction by

The stack of lumber behind my feet in the batter’s box let Coach Connor know that I stepped away when I should have leaned into the swing. That I was scared of the ball. Collapsed two-by-fours meant three laps or twenty push-ups, red grit dusting my lips and teeth as I hustled around the baseballMore

The Barber

The Barber

Fiction by

The World’s Best Barbershop has a sign in the window with a number below the words Call Flame, and when you call Flame says he’ll be there in ten or fifteen minutes and eight minutes later rolls up in a ten-year-old Cadillac, tinted windows a quarter-rolled down so you can see his dry cleaning hangingMore

Two Stories

Two Stories

Fiction by

A Man’s Life as Wet Dog Story There is nothing more lied about than a man’s life, because there are usually at least two groups of people lying: the man’s kingdom and those loyal to the man himself. A man goes to war and fights for his country, comes back to an indifferent horde ofMore

Floater

Floater

Fiction by

And everything stays fine for a while. During this time life smells pretty fragrant to me even if the basic facts that comprise it haven’t really changed. More

Bringing it all Back Home

Bringing it all Back Home

Fiction by

“I’ll take the I Love You Today,” I say. I take out a crumbled five dollar bill and hand it to her.More

Boys Play

Boys Play

Fiction by

She should have gone grocery shopping, she thinks. She has to go anyway. Who was she kidding? She wanted to spy on him—she wanted to see what he was up to.More

The Milk of Sorrow

The Milk of Sorrow

Essay by

I feel the voices of a million women surging up in song. Their pain rings across the bony beaches, across the centuries. I feel their projections on me, their hopes and fears. But I’m not strong enough. I cast them to the side, where they fill the air with sorrow.More

On the Brink of Making my Big Move

On the Brink of Making my Big Move

Fiction by

It’s just me and the stack. I adjust my chair. I breathe deep. I plant my feet. I Google productivity tips. I play a round of e-solitaire. I stare into my screensaver and see Marie laying with me in pixilated fields beneath a trademarked sun. More