All entries by this author

“Don’t Say We Didn’t Warn You: An Employee Handbook,” by Candace Webb

May 8th, 2024 | By

Welcome to the Book Villa! We are a family-owned bookstore (and purveyor of pornographic magazines; yes, those magazines are still available in print) located downtown. Things are rough in the city these days—you’ll pass dollar stores, a bingo hall, and empty storefronts on your way here—but take heart! The recession is temporary. We feel lucky to have jobs, and so should you. We’d say you were hired for your unique qualifications, but this is retail, so we’d be lying.



“Newly Uncovered Medical Note From Van Gogh’s Otologist,” by Parker Wilson

May 1st, 2024 | By

Writer received the patient in their room. The patient, Van Gogh, Vincent, male, age 35, initially observed sitting on the bed smoking tobacco.

Two oddly shaped chairs were observed by the writer in the patient’s room, which were angled such that one imagined one would slide off and onto the floor if one were to try and sit.

The patient wore a blue cap lined with black fur and appeared disheveled with bad hygiene.



Defenestration: April 2024

Apr 20th, 2024 | By

Welcome, one and all, to the April 2024 issue of Defenestration, which marks our 21st volume. Yes, Defenestration is now old enough to drink alcoholic beverages in the United States, obtain a concealed weapons permit, adopt a child, and gamble at casinos. So if you don’t hear from Defenestration for the next week or so,

[continue reading…]



“When Salvador Dali Identified Oscar Wilde In a Lineup,” Maureen Mancini Amaturo

Apr 20th, 2024 | By

The officer tripped over Dali’s walking stick for the third time. “Do you really need that thing?”

“Do I need this walking stick? Perhaps. The visual is everything.”



“Shell-Shocked,” by Patrick Siniscalchi

Apr 20th, 2024 | By

The cloudless morning sky failed to lift Harold’s slumped shoulders as he walked along the shoreline. At thirty-five, he assumed he would be married, yet he hadn’t dated anyone in ten months. And none of the prior ones had spawned a second date. With the reach of the waves lapping at his feet, he counted the time since his relationship with Cynthia had disintegrated. He rechecked his math and muttered, “Eight years.” His face wilted; his unfocused gaze drifted to the sea.