All entries by this author

“Jillian Michael Joins My Writing Group,” by Nicola Davison

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

We are settled on our chairs, laptops atop laps, mugs of tea in hand, ready to hear the first short story when the buzzer buzzes. “Hang on. I thought we were all here,” says Darlene. We have our meetings in a small living room on the fourth floor of a downtown apartment building. We are only five, so we don’t need much space. “Someone named Jillian. Says you invited her,” she looks at me. “Sounds quite bossy.”



“Monster of the Week,” by Fred Coppersmith

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

They say the camera adds ten or even fifteen pounds. Maybe that’s why Harvey didn’t notice the dragon was quite so big until the darn thing actually ate him.



“Auntie Barb Saves the World,” by Christina Scott

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

Scalp 1: (Brunette male, crew cut) I’m leaving this note for my progeny. In the future, I will be known as the Savior of the World. You’re probably reading this from behind a glass box in some overrated museum where you have to eat Triscuits and sip apple juice while looking really constipated. Congratulations on finding the only cool thing on display. The scalp I’m writing on was from a guy you would have liked. Running out of room. I’ll switch to the redhead.



“Fresh Seawater Lobster,” by Wendy Garnier

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

Perfectly cooked lobster is surely one of life’s pleasures. Making lobster on your holiday may seem like a lavish affair, but we’ve put together an easy recipe anyone can make – spectacular succulent lobster in sea salted water.



“Ham of Destiny,” by Laura Garrison

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

One warm spring night on a tiny farm in Whistle County, Tennessee, eleven piglets slipped from a sow like marbles from a silk purse, ten boys and one girl. The boys were fine, sturdy specimens, if perhaps a shade dull—more bacon than brains, as the saying goes—but the girl was a wonder, clever and strong and pink as a sunrise.



“Immortal,” by Rachel Cassidy

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

When Eddie electrocuted himself dead leaving a burnt image of Jesus on his left hand, it was faintly ironic for two reasons: one, he was doing something nice for somebody else at the time, which was out of character to start with; two, nobody had expected him to live long enough to do something nice for somebody else and subsequently electrocute himself.



“The Registry of Intangibles,” by P.K. Read

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

Dear Applicant,

We have taken your application to register yourself as the sole owner and proprieter of a portion of Hungarian history, specifically 1820-1849, under consideration for inclusion in the Registry of Intangibles.



“-141,” by Natalie De Paz

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

His faithless cock wants to feel her sigh:
tender, deliberate, slow—
He could never love her like he wants her thighs,
her sleepy bending legs, vulgar phrases she borrows.



“Odysseus, Retired to Florida, at the Mall,” by Marc DeSantis

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

Odysseus stood before the food court, flummoxed, bewildered, confused,
bereft of all ideas, no clever scheme could he devise,
None of his considerable craft was of use,
Nothing he knew had prepared him for this, no experience,
Not all of his wanderings in search of his beloved Ithaca had readied him,
he was lost, adrift, as surely as if he had been storm-tossed, alone, on the wine-dark sea.



“For the Girls,” by Penny Peyser

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

Putting on thy bra is not an option
When getting dressed to act’ally start the day.
Not doing so will trash a plan’s adoption
And leave one’s girls so aimlessly to sway.