Tag: Fiction

Fiction: “Sarcophagy at Mar-a-Lago” by Derick Dupre

You’ve never seen a colder bunker. Of course I got this rigged with a.c., naturally the best and coldest, ice cold as the backseat of your grandma’s cadillac. There’s nothing fresher than what’s here I guarantee it. This is one of the finest examples of civil defense on the entire globe and that’s including Antarctica,…
Fiction: Amanda Goldblatt’s “The Way We Feel Sometimes”

First I’m confrontational with shift workers. The pharmacist asks for my signature, if I have any questions, if the dosage is correct. “Obviously,” I hammer. She is small with rosacea. I am not tall; I feel tall in her presence. I watch her wilt. Give her what she wants. Regarding any transaction, I’m taciturn. When…
Fiction: Daniel J. Cecil’s “The Stages of Orbit”

-1- Jonathan was drawn back by a force when the airlock opened. It was the vision of the kitchen floor, which was another opening, and another loss of air—something he wasn’t quite expecting the weight of. That day was like this one. The lack of oxygen was what he felt. When his friend returned home…
Fiction: Justin Lawrence Daugherty’s “Whatever Don’t Drown Will Always Rise”

People hear Nebraska and they think Omaha, the big city, or they think nothing at all. They don’t think about Indians crossing over from the rez in South Dakota for a drink, falling asleep in the highways, opening flesh like exposed empty pockets, begging for wounds. My neighbor told me about seventeen dead horses found…
Fiction: Ryder Collins’ “The weeds is us”

Not the fates or the furies but they flew in bad asses just the same. The land was already writhing roiling burning fighting so you’d think no one would notice these bitches blowing in but … everything stopped. Everyone stopped biting, peeing, fucking, eating, snoring, snorting, dicking; every sweat pore stopped sweating, every bead of…
Fiction: Delaney Nolan’s “Apple/Arcadia”

Six months after Katrina, you jump head-first into shallow bayou water and break your fool neck. I’m not there when it happens, but Jean is, shooting at raccoons. He fishes you out and pulls you onto the slimy bank. You aren’t moving your limbs any, but Jean can see your chest heaving: in, out, in.…
Fiction: “Dear Editor” by Paul Beckman

Dear Editor, Please cancel our subscription. I can no longer have your newspaper lying around where my children can read the “Letters to the Editor” advocating same-sex marriage, separation of church and state, atheist rights, teaching of sex education in school, locations where free condoms are dispensed, transgender studies (whatever they are), school book lists…
Fiction: Peter Clarke’s “Untitled in B”

My refrigerator in its old age sometimes quivers and hums when its fan turns on. The quivering is completely insignificant, but the humming, I’ve found, is B, the musical note. It’s not sharp or flat; it’s a perfect B. Just like the fan in my crotchety refrigerator, anything that moves fast enough will begin to…
Fiction: Timmy Reed’s “The Spider’s Eggs”

I woke up after the storm and went outside to see what had been broken. The deck was intact, but all around the trees were crushed like bad teeth. My eye was drawn to the center of the gray deck where above the strewn pine needles and sticks, just inches over a composite-wood plank, there…