Fiction

“A Narcissist Walks Into a Bar, Because Two Is One Too Many,” by George Beckerman

Aug 20th, 2024 | By

Marc and Daphne have agreed to go on a blind date. But it may never come about because in the restaurant’s parking lot, both wait in their respective cars, not wanting to make it seem that they arrived first. Why is this, you may ask? Because Marc and Daphne are narcissists. Once they notice each other waiting, they have no choice but to exit their cars, approach and pretend that what happened did not.



“Don’t try to remove the device because the electronic lock can only be opened by a company representative,” by Scott Erickson

Aug 20th, 2024 | By

We’re just about done here, then on to HR for your employee identification card. I just need to finish securing the device to your wrist. Please don’t attempt to remove it. The electronic lock can only be opened by a company representative upon termination.

No, not termination in the sense of dying. In the sense of termination of employment. Although it could be said, from the company’s perspective, that once you’re terminated you’re “dead” to us.



“Total Donation,” by Alex McNall

Aug 20th, 2024 | By

It was four in the morning and Douglas was sweating, the harsh Alaska sunlight blasting through the window of his efficiency cube.

“Hell!” Douglas said, the worst word he could say without risking a fine.

He sat up and fumbled for the air conditioner. His cube was such that he could reach almost everything, from door knob to toilet handle, while sitting in bed. Douglas turned all the dials on the AC unit and checked the plug seven times. He was about to kick it again when he saw that his alarm clock was blank.

“The power is out?” Douglas asked aloud. “Then why do I smell squid-waffles, huh?”



“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.