It’s still technically summer, and while I know you’re impatiently waiting for the onset of sweater weather, never fear: the August 2024 issue of Defenestration is here, so at the very least you won’t be bored. (At least for now. I don’t know how long it will take you to read six short stories and six poems. Probably not very long. So maybe you won’t be bored for the next 45 minutes. If we’re lucky, the weather will get cooler in that short time and you’ll be able to break out that sweater in your closet that’s been tempting you with is scandalous softness all summer.)

On a typical sleepy Sunday morning in Glendale, California, Kyle and his wife, Noelle, were setting up lawn chairs for their garage sale. A small playing card table was situated between them with a pitcher of ice tea and two cups. A sign on a makeshift sandwich board read: GARAGE SALE. ALL SALES ARE FINAL. This was the second attempt as the previous day a steady drizzle had kept only but a handful of the bargain hunters away.

Being the survivor of a happy union, ’til death do us part, would have been less painful than the daily combat of annulment crossfire. I flipped through my soon-to-be ex-husband’s proposed divorce settlement with a feeling of loss, disappointed that decades of a life together would end in acrimony. Why should I be expected to settle for less than I deserved? The deadline to sign was approaching.

Life has been a little weird since that portal opened up. At first everyone was all “Oh my God! Hell Beasts are flooding the earth, seas, and skies! We’re going to die!” and the government was telling us to arm ourselves to the teeth. I’d never bought a gun in my life, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time.

In June of his hundred-fifty-something-th year, when the pages of his native Russian novel started to feel positively toxic, Innokentii dusted off the folds of his jacket, picked up his hat and a walking stick and stepped out into the world.