Tag: Fiction

Gregory Lee Sullivan: Three Fictions

The Cow with a Hole in It I know all you want to do is stare at the hole in my side. How you’ve never seen one like me, even on the university farms. You want one of your girlfriends to go to my other side and stick her head through toward where you’re standing…
Three Fables by Danilo John Thomas

Where These Rivers Start Fast Joe, I was there the day you began to rain. We were walking home from track practice, a walk that led us down alleys filled with rusting garbage cans, dented and filled with dried weeds. Dry Town was a dusty dry town after all. The rain had not fallen there…
Zach VandeZande Fiction: “Imperative”

It is night and the feeling is coming on again. You know the one. There are rules for dealing with this, a blunt methodology we have devised over time. Stay awake. Don’t stop thinking. Don’t let it wash over you the way it does. Find something to do. The knight Wallace makes his way up…
New Fiction: “Object Erotica” by Dolan Morgan

—for Steve Oristaglio There is a foosball table in a New Jersey summer home. There is a grand piano in the parlor of a Boston brownstone. They would like to see each other but are far apart. Hundreds of miles. Impossible miles, endless terrain. What can these objects make of America’s highway system? Its strip…
“The Sloth Girl,” a new fable by Ted Pelton

Sloth Girl lived at the top of a very tall tree in a great forest. Upon Sloth Girl lived Moth and his Wife as well as Beetle and his village and Algae who was many at the same time. Sloth Girl was hanging upside down in the top of the tree one day when Moth’s…
Short Story: “Rhizome” by Daniel Miller

OneYou exit the long or short corridor and enter a hexagonal room with a door on each wall. A room with paint on each wall, too, and the paint in this room is alloy orange. On each door, a numeral is printed in gold foil—two through nine. In the center of room is a table…
Sara Lippmann Fiction: “Runner’s Paradise”

I’m taking up running, I tell my husband at breakfast. My husband smiles though his juice. Adam is always running and he is always smiling an electric mouthful of fenced whites. He wears spandex shorts and neon shirts of breathable fabric. His man smell rises off of him, benign, like a tea: sweet grassy armpit.…
“Ruidoso, Carrizozo, Ruidoso”: Short Fiction by Adrian Van Young

Billy Sue Dolan was from Ruidoso, one town in a hundred New Mexico towns. Except Ruidoso was in Lincoln County, the most violent part of that desolate state, where William McCarty or William H. Bonney or Billy the Kid, he would come to be known for the twenty-one men he’d reportedly slain, had seen ideal…
“The Arm,” a short story for Haunted Passages by Henry Giardina

I made my choice, and I don’t have no regrets so far. That’s a lot better than some folks in town can say. It’s been about, oh, four years now since they took the arm. Actually took it, I mean. I made the choice for it to go much earlier—I guess I must have been…