Category: Fiction

Fiction: Jamie Iredell’s “Killing the Sax”

The Fat Kid and the Fat Kid’s daddy and the Fat Kid’s buddies sat at the bar watching the football game when the saxophone came in. Nick said, Aw, fuck. Cooter grunted. They all shifted a barstool toward the Pabst clock, toward the television, hoping the saxophone wouldn’t start blowing. Their hopes dashed, for that’s…
Fiction: Michael Sheehan’s “I Love You Like This Because I Don’t Know Any Other Way to Love”

The TV said the bombing was claimed by the Taliban, who’d convinced the informant—a man, a doctor, a father—to kill himself for the greater good of killing high-ranking U.S. intelligence officials who believed he was on their side, a Taliban supporter turned CIA aide, though in truth he was a triple agent, as the TV…
Fiction: Randolph Pfaff’s “Day Trip with David”

Open with the narrator speaking to a statue, conveying the sadness of New Jersey. Describing the taste of ocean air outside a Walmart, the incongruity of homeless men a block off the boardwalk. It’s the end of an endless car trip in summer, credits already rolling through late afternoon sky. The statue points out the…
Fiction: Rolli’s “There’s a Swan in My Scrotum”

When I was younger my younger brother found a duck nest and picked out one egg. Then the mother bit him in the kneecaps and the rectum but her beak got stuck. He squeezed her out like he was shitting and some shit came out. Then he stomped on the nest and ran home with…
Fiction: Lori D’Angelo’s “Neighbors”

Thomas hired a neighbor woman to spy on his wife. He told himself that it was for his wife’s own good. His marriage had fizzled, and he wanted to know why. His wife’s name was Donna. The neighbor’s name was Donnetta. At times, he felt like he wasn’t even spying. The neighbor was like an…
Fiction: Three Atrocities by John Dermot Woods

*Ed.’s Note: click images to view larger sizes. New Jersey In the suburbs of New York City, the police were called to detain a trespasser who had been witnessed climbing the fences of several residents’ backyards and digging up their lawns with a steel shovel. The trespasser was a woman, a mother who said she…
Fiction: Molly Prentiss’ “My Someone’s Ears”

The first things I loved about My Someone were his ears. They were smaller than average, and shaped like seashells, curved in on themselves and then hollow. They seemed to ask to be whispered into. Or I wanted to hold them up to my own ears to hear the ocean. Our first kiss was not…
Fiction: Amy Glasenapp’s “I Don’t Want to Bury Dreams Yet”

Tick tock, you say. My coat is nowhere to be found, and of course, my keys are in the coat. I disappear and come back empty-handed. You shake your head. On the way out you talk about real things: bills, Thanksgiving, weatherproofing the apartment. Things I don’t want to think about just now with the…
Fiction: “Hunting,” by Meg Pokrass

The doctor told Dad he had a sub-zero temperature. He was almost always home now. My little sister laughed. Tarla laughed at most of what Dad said—but not at what he did. “That is not possible,” I said to Dad. His doctor’s appointments were twice a week. “Well, the doctor slapped my bottom and that…