Fiction
Apr 20th, 2023 |
By Defenestration
Charles Bronson’s corpse lay at the feet of four men in the Rest-Go back room. Their chanting covered the sound of the freezer humming to keep the ice cream sandwiches from melting.
Posted in Fiction, Prose |
Comments Off on “Men’s Rights Activists Resurrect Charles Bronson,” by Austin Wilson
Tags: Austin Wilson, Fiction, Fiction XX.I, Prose, XX.I
Apr 20th, 2023 |
By Defenestration
I walked into a pole one sunny afternoon. It was the makings of me. Never saw the thing. One of them tall, slender, grey yokes that melt into the background if you’re not paying attention. I felt like it did something to me. Whether temporary or permanent, I wasn’t sure. But change was afoot. I could feel it. Could end up with a job by the end of the day, I reckoned. Which frightened the life out of me.
Posted in Fiction, Prose |
Comments Off on “Scrapes,” by Trevor Conway
Tags: Fiction, Fiction XX.I, Prose, Trevor Conway, XX.I
Apr 20th, 2023 |
By Defenestration
It happens fast.
First you refuse to eat anything with a face.
Milk, eggs, and cheese soon follow.
Posted in Fiction, Prose |
Comments Off on “Do Buddhist Dogs Have Fleas?” by Gail Mackenzie-Smith
Tags: Fiction, Fiction XX.I, Gail Mackenzie-Smith, Prose, XX.I
Apr 20th, 2023 |
By Defenestration
Anita envied the wind-chimes. Their moans taunted her as she knocked on the oak door. She needed to steady her breath, so she allowed herself to slump, back flat, against the frame of the house. She hadn’t made much progress when the door creaked open. Anita leapt off of the siding, but she didn’t see who she was expecting. “Sorry. I must have made a mistake. I—”
Posted in Fiction, Prose |
Comments Off on “Dick Tea,” by Ariel Castagna
Tags: Ariel Castagna, Fiction, Fiction XX.I, Prose, XX.I
Dec 20th, 2022 |
By Defenestration
“I don’t care if you have to lie down in a fucking coffin like Edith Sitwell,” Beelzebub says. “Get me some pages!”
This is my agent speaking. His name is not really Beelzebub—that’s just how I have him listed in my phone contacts. He’s very professional and he’s never spoken to me like this before. It’s just that I’ve pushed him to the end of whatever tether good agents are connected to their writers by. OK seriously—that sentence I just wrote? That is nothing like my usual high-quality prose. But just now, something really bad is happening to me.
Posted in Fiction, Prose |
Comments Off on “Rumplesynopsis,” by Iris. J. Melton
Tags: Fiction, Fiction XIX.IIi, Iris J. Melton, Prose, XIX.III