[by B.H. Findley] The April rains go on through May, and then continue into June. By the second week of July the smell of mildew has seeped into the carpets, and two inches of water stand in the basement. Puddles spread in the leach field. The garden is all mud and leaves. The tomatoes show […]
[by Bill Vernon] With the fluid plucking of strings, Diane Grey imagined a circle of white-and-black costumed Greek men emerging from the walls and in a shoulder hold dancing, circling around as she, in white athletic socks with cushioned soles, slid in time to the music left and right across the room while dry-mopping the oak […]
[by R.C. Davis] Easels stood, watchful sentinels on the market sidewalk, defined by the surrealistic paintings pinned to their spindly bones. The artist sat motionless, her interest on the cigarette in her fingers. The smoke rolled skyward, no breeze to disrupt the moment. She could have easily been a self-portrait. I turned to walk away. Her […]
[by Ellen Denton] Liana’s bare feet were flat against the wood floor and she was leaning over so that the upper part of her body, her arms, hands, and the side of her face were pressed down flat on top of the piano. She could feel every vibration through her fingertips and torso and faint throbs […]
[by Cynthia June Long] I should have known. I barely had to sweep the floors the entire time we lived in Boston. For two years, the wind blew our planked balcony clean. The plaster-walled apartment was remarkably dust-free. Spiders stayed outdoors. Sometimes it seemed that even the dishes washed themselves. At the time I thought Jim […]
[by Salena Casha] “You can’t come,” my sister said. I was fifteen, she, nineteen, but in the hallway darkness, she looked far older. Perhaps the night had bewitched her and replaced her with someone else, maybe our dead mother. They shared far more qualities than I cared to admit sometimes: the same dazed gaze, the same […]
[by Terry Sanville] People liked his trimmed white beard, pegged him as someone who knew all the right tunes. They liked his price: seventy-five an hour with a two-hour minimum. They liked his silence: he never chatted up the attendees. But that day, they detested everything.
[by Brooke Wonders] I. Bells Medomai was the only daughter of the bellmaker Monody. By the time Medomai was six, she could construct a mold of brick and wax. By the time she was twelve, she’d memorized the formula for bellmetal. By the time she was fifteen, she had mastered the mathematics of pitch. Medomai cast […]
[by Gerri Leen] I’m that girl. You know the one: black clothes, heavy boots, thick kohl eyeliner, hair dyed raven. I wander around the school, and you move away, afraid you’ll get cooties. You’d call me a goth, but there’s something off—I’m not just some kid trying to be counter-culture cool. I’m scary.
[by Shannon Connor Winward] We don’t know how it was my father drowned. He had no bruises, no tears on his clothes to suggest there’d been a brawl. He had no enemies, in any case. He didn’t drink. Perhaps an apoplexy took him as he bent to wash off the grime from his day. Perhaps he’d […]