Posts Tagged ‘ Fiction ’

“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.



“Out of Town,” by Jennie Byrne

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

I’m out of town. That’s all I had to say. Sorry mum, it’s work, I’ll visit as soon as I’m home. Then book a one way ticket to Australia and change my name to Silvia.

She’d never know about the three pictures a day I post on Facebook which are clearly from my living room. She’d never know that I’m sitting in all day binge watching Orange Is The New Black, with my hair scrunched up into a bobble, a cup of tea in one hand and the other arm deep in a bag of Doritos, (the chili heatwave kind of course, because the cheesy ones leave your mouth tasting like a badgers armpit for hours), chili dust clinging to the hairs on my forearm. She’d never know I lied.



“Now that you’ve seen me in my gimp suit, there are some things I want to talk to you about,” by L. Soviero

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

I know how awkward that must’ve been for you, coming home and finding me how you did. It was for me too.



“From Doug the Bear with Love,” by Chris Connell

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

I’m writing this from what seems to be a box. Eh, it’s a computer. I’m sitting at a computer and now I have to come up with a short story that will win the hearts of its readers.

Yeah, so it was 1973. Yeah, 1973, everyone loves the 70s. This will work. No, it was 2017. Yeah, 2017. Cool. We got the year out of the way.

On a dark summer night in 2017, it was dark like most nights are, and I was fishing. Yeah, fishing. OK, I got it, yeah, I was fishing and there was a bear. A bear. I caught a fucking bear.



“We Cannot Become What we Need to be by Remaining What we Are,” by C.B. Auder

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

“I need a transplant,” Dad said, and before I could even back up my spreadsheet, the old man had tripped over the coffee table and windmilled into my lap.

I’d always thought of my father as a person only in the abstract, of course. But once that cruller-loving flesh bag was slumped across my chair, pinching my carpal-tunnel arm? Well.



“The Interview,” by Paul Stansbury

Dec 20th, 2016 | By

Lehman stepped off the elevator on the 5th floor of the building identified only as 100 Canard Place. Directly across the hall, a hand lettered note was tacked to the wall beside a frosted glass door. It read, “Candidates for the position go inside.”

‘Inside’ was a long, vacant reception room. A single chair was positioned to the right of the door. Above the chair was another hand lettered note that read, “Please be seated.” Lehman glanced at his wrist watch as he sat down. It read 10:40 am. His interview was at eleven o’clock. Perhaps they would call him early, he thought. He kept glancing at his watch until the hands slowly crawled around to 10:58 am. He should be called soon he thought. The straight-backed metal chair was digging into his thighs and the trickle of tepid air that was flowing from the dusty vents only served to add to his discomfort. Suddenly, he was aware of a presence standing directly in front of him.

“Mr. Lemon Farts.”



“Tourist Problems,” by KJ Hannah Greenberg

Dec 20th, 2016 | By

Hi Irene:

I hope you are well. I know that you left a message wanting to know when we arranged tour guides. I’m answering you late because one guide has not yet gotten back to us. So, here’s the best information I can give you, at this point.

Quimby and I would like to pay for two days of touring. One has already been scheduled and paid for. It’s for our boys to go to Vallis Bohr and the Bohr Crater. The tour guide will pick them up at your cube and drop them back off very late in the day. He will make sure they hydrate at appropriate times and will otherwise take good care of them.



“Love in the Age of Global Warming,” by Alice Hatcher

Dec 20th, 2016 | By

Eva Wright announced her wedding engagement with little forethought one cold April morning, during an uneven thaw at the end of an unseasonably long winter. She’d been wandering for hours along slushy Chicago streets, admiring the frost glittering on the petals of tulips, when she decided to visit her father, if only to fill the empty hours of a quiet Saturday morning.

“It’s been awhile,” Thomas Wright said. He averted his eyes from his daughter’s frayed sweater, an affront to fashion that recalled the color of withered limes.



“But How Will Brexit Affect Vampires?” by Lita Kurth

Dec 20th, 2016 | By

In a huge cavern in Transylvania, a hundred thousand bats gathered for an emergency meeting, clinging in tribal clusters from stalactites. At the center of the cave, various national representatives nudged and wedged themselves into better spots, until a huge ancient bat with scarred wings, raised his head and emitted a sonorous whistle. All fell quiet.