[by Jordan Taylor]
“Ireland’s Fairy Tours:” The green, Celtic script took up almost half of the guidebook’s page. Droplets of rain plinked onto the page and ran down its silken surface, briefly highlighting letters, words – “A,” “I,” “hills,” “sky.”
I was lost. Continue reading Do You See?
[by J.M. Young]
How did I get here?
We had made the choice that ending our engagement like mature adults was the best course for the both of us. We weren’t good for one another, in that way. Ethan took a job as a professor in Boston. I refused to leave my photography business in Tennessee. Long distance was torturous. He has a daughter ten years my junior who hated my guts. He made me cry almost every time we were together. The list goes on.
But we were good in the sack. Continue reading Promise
[by Ingrid Garcia]
Andro Gyne’s shape-shifting glitter suit was running at full throttle as be floated through the corridors of her kleptocracy’s Piercer of the Void. The outfit flowed from ballerina outfit to ball gown, from skirt to skirt suit to tuxedo with a fluidity that matched Gyne’s effortless traverses through the sexes. Continue reading Pirates for Life
[by James Lawrence Rhodes]
It was November 1977 on the beach of Aberdaron that I first saw the figure of Dafydd Jones. The heat of the summer had passed into a bright but cold autumn. My father, an offshore oil worker, had rented a local cottage for the entire year and my mother, who was clearly bored to tears at home, had insisted that we get as much use out of it as possible. We were there for half term. Continue reading The Sin Eater
[by Terry Sanville]
Albert Perkins let out a low moan as he slowly climbed the steps. “Damn knees,” he muttered and slumped into the first seat in back of the nickel-plated pole. The doors hissed shut and the bus driver momentarily twisted around, grinning.
“And a good afternoon to you, Mr. P. How’re gigs?” The driver released the air brake and swung the big vehicle into traffic.
“You know damn well I haven’t had a gig in years. You be sure to let me know when Swing music comes back around.” Continue reading Road to Orion
[by Holly Schofield]
Mya’s sleeve twitches, then twitches again, her coat of protection wanting her to reach out and grab a handful of macaroni from the casserole dish. She almost gives in, not trusting there’s enough food for all six of them. The Garment Guild foster mother, Alice, doesn’t notice Mya’s arm tremors. Continue reading Twisted Threads
[by Sharon Kae Reamer]
She stared at her ballpoint pen on the conference table. The hum of voices was insistent, of the men-hammering-in-a-forge variety. She rotated the pen through an ever-widening spiral, picturing the equations defining the spiral in her head and their relation to other equations, other geometries, but always with the basic spiral body plan. Continue reading A Gift from Fibonacci
[by J. J. Roth]
My name is Dannah Endlove, but this is not my story.
This story belongs to all the inhabitants of my home, the city-state Barosa. We have told and retold this tale countless times and passed it down to our children. One day, it will belong to the entire world. Continue reading Piper: A Song for Flute and Chorus
[by Travis Burnham]
Isolde sat, waiting into late evening while the candles burned low, when finally her boyfriend called to cancel. It was Valentine’s Day and she’d taken all afternoon to prepare her boyfriend’s favorite—boeuf bourguignon with a side of homemade egg noodles. It wasn’t the first time her boyfriend had cancelled. Jaw clenched, she quietly told him it was the last time. Tinny with distance, the boyfriend yelled, cursed. She hung up, then fought back bitter tears before chugging from the bottle of Malbec. Continue reading Life Unframed
[by Kris Faatz]
Joseph knew his violin wouldn’t cover up the noise when the mail came at noon. Even so, at a quarter to twelve, he took the instrument out of the case because a hard knot had formed in the pit of his stomach and he didn’t know any other way to get through the daily torture. He tucked the violin under his chin, studied the dripping gray pines outside his apartment’s picture window and let his fingers trace arpeggios he hadn’t had to think about for years. Continue reading Solo Fantasy