Fiction

“The Day That Went Hobnaciously,” by Han Adcock

Apr 20th, 2016 | By

It was Thursday. Thursdays are good for wandoodling your time, but it’s better to put any Time you don’t need into one of those big, green plastic thingies and leave it out for the Midnight Collector. He always refuses to take it but hey ho.

Who invented Thursdays anyway? I stood on the decrepit corner between Pointless Walk and Eville Avenue and I demanded to know the answer. The bins outside number twenty-four were so sparkly but still, they only answered with a silent reflection. Silent reflection is a good practice to keep in public, but like so many other people, I—



“This Is Probably Not The Right Time To Tell My Wife About My Awesome Movie Idea,” by Doug Cornett

Apr 20th, 2016 | By

From above, probably on a helicopter, we see an island in pandemonium. In the center of the island there’s a volcano that is just spitting magma all over the place, smoke pouring upward, the whole place is rumbling. But what is that we see? Down at the base of the volcano, somehow not engulfed in lava? We zoom in. It’s a hero, and he’s, like, meditating up on one leg. He’s got his shirt off and he’s ripped. Then… his eyes snap open!



“Former African Despot Mobutu Sese Seko is a Subway Conductor on the 6 Train,” by Emily Buckler

Apr 20th, 2016 | By

Spring Street. Stand clear of the closing doors. This train will skip Bleecker—I do not care for it. Transfers to the 4, B, D, F, and M trains must use my brother Rodney’s special car service.



“Do Not Call,” by Stacia Friedman

Dec 20th, 2015 | By

“Hello? Hello?”

(pause)

“Hi. This is Suzy.”

“Um, yes?”

“You’re receiving this call because you’ve been recommended by a friend who hates your guts!”

“I beg your pardon?”



“The Honest Adjunct,” by Ryan Shoemaker

Dec 20th, 2015 | By

Come on in. Ashley, isn’t it? No? Emily? Alexis? All you sorority girls look the same. I think you’re in one of my Tuesday classes. Hannah? That’s right. You usually sit in the back of the classroom, left side, and last week I distinctly remember seeing you order a striped bikini from Forever 21 during my lecture on affirmative action. Such forethought—and it’s only November.



“The Gunman Who Came In From The Door,” by Rose Biggin

Dec 20th, 2015 | By

It was a dull day, I wasn’t doing very much. In theory I was working from home, but that theory wasn’t working and neither was I. I tried looking out of the window but the sky was a smudged grey, like yesterday’s make-up, and it didn’t compel me out of doors or into better thoughts. I looked again at my work, but it could all wait a few more minutes. I didn’t know what to write. I was waiting for inspiration, and starting to feel stood up. The phone was silent. The clock ticked. A man came through the door with a gun in his hand.



“We’ll Always Have Robo-Paris,” by Fred Coppersmith

Dec 20th, 2015 | By

They shot the Messenger, Tabitha said, and he wasn’t expected to survive.

“What was he even doing there?” Brad asked. “Breaking up a robbery, a drug deal? That doesn’t sound like him. Last I heard, he was stranded at the Cosmic Gates, lost in the Mists of Time, thinking deep thoughts about truth and justice or something like that.”

“Turns out he was in Poughkeepsie.”

It turned out, much to the shock of the gathered League, that the Messenger had been a fraud.



“Mrs. Armstrong Counts her Chickens,” by Christina Dalcher

Dec 20th, 2015 | By

“Congratulations, Mrs. Armstrong, you’re having twins.”

“Twins?”

“That’s right. Now if I could see you in about ten weeks?”

“What do you mean ‘twins’?”

“I mean two babies. We don’t know whether they’re fraternal or identical yet, but…”

“That’s wonderful, Margie!”

“Be quiet, Harold. I don’t see what’s so wonderful about twins. You see, Dr. Myers, I wanted multiples.”



“Internship,” by Mark Kaufman

Dec 20th, 2015 | By

Blurch the Earthworm spat out a mouthful of putrid soil. Although he badly wanted to scowl, he lacked the musculoskeletal qualities to do so.



“House of Logs,” by Patrick McManus

Dec 20th, 2015 | By

Brittney went upstairs to ask her husband a question. She found him sitting on their bed and watching a football game on television. “Honey, how would you like to go to a movie tonight?”

“You know I don’t go to theaters!” Abraham Lincoln yelled.