Posts Tagged ‘ Fiction ’

“All Star,” by Luka Watts

Aug 20th, 2017 | By

The only thing to have survived the apocalypse is a recording of All Star by Smash Mouth. And language and grammar, because the man transcribing my story couldn’t be bothered to think of new grammatical and linguistic rules for a story he isn’t interested in. I imagine he listened to All Star and figured out the old ones or something. It upset me to hear he wasn’t interested in my story, because I think it’s quite good.



“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.



“Clown R&R,” by Kevin Sterne

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

I’m in the middle of my tuna melt when Wendy tells me she’s got a woman on the line with a clown stuck in her window well. Great.

“Can I call her after my break?” I say with a mouth full of moist tuna.

To which Wendy says, “I’m really sorry but she sounds like hysterics.”

Wendy’s big for her age, her age being about 55—or 20 years my senior—and big being residual body mass from her college rugby days.

I put the rest of my lunch in foil.



“Here Lies Ennis MacDonald,” by Kay Bevan

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

Evelyn wasn’t entirely sure what to do, when her husband choked and died at the breakfast table one Saturday morning. Lifting him was out of the question; she was fit for a seventy-two year old, but Ennis was decidedly less so. No, she wouldn’t be able to budge him without straining something. Going into town for help was out, too. She was definitely not ready for any of the folk in town to come sneaking and spying around her house under the guise of caring.