Short Stories
The Air is Getting Thinner
by Gavin Broom
IT'S ALL A FACADE is written in huge, blood red letters across the hotel bed sheet and India Fargo stands
behind it as though she's about to perform a magic trick. The spotlights from the cops on the ground and
the hovering news choppers just add to the theater. On a ledge outside her fifteenth floor window, wearing
a grimace that might come from determination or fear, India is back where she belongs; center-stage.
more»
by Gavin Broom
IT'S ALL A FACADE is written in huge, blood red letters across the hotel bed sheet and India Fargo stands
behind it as though she's about to perform a magic trick. The spotlights from the cops on the ground and
the hovering news choppers just add to the theater. On a ledge outside her fifteenth floor window, wearing
a grimace that might come from determination or fear, India is back where she belongs; center-stage.
more»
Randagi
by Kerstin Demata
Life was weird. I’d had flashes of insight over those three years, mostly while under the influence of light
recreational drugs, mostly in hideously inconvenient situations, in which I’d suddenly leap into a parallel
universe of total objectivity and think to myself, “This is odd.” I’d say, though, that the night I spent flying
down the Autostrada in Lee’s battered Fiat, strapped to the passenger seat with two crisscrossed bungee
chords digging into my torso, bound for the Austrian border, refugees running like mad from absolutely
nothing…I’d say that’s when the feeling became more of a permanent state of mind.
more»
by Kerstin Demata
Life was weird. I’d had flashes of insight over those three years, mostly while under the influence of light
recreational drugs, mostly in hideously inconvenient situations, in which I’d suddenly leap into a parallel
universe of total objectivity and think to myself, “This is odd.” I’d say, though, that the night I spent flying
down the Autostrada in Lee’s battered Fiat, strapped to the passenger seat with two crisscrossed bungee
chords digging into my torso, bound for the Austrian border, refugees running like mad from absolutely
nothing…I’d say that’s when the feeling became more of a permanent state of mind.
more»
Construction of a Lie
by Boyd Taylor
A fraud, a con, a liar, a cheat, call me what you want but I have live a greater life than you. I have seen the
world and seen my name in books. You may not approve of what I’ve done along the way, but at least I
have achieved something. So curse me for my crimes, the lord knows I have committed many, but when
you set down your book I want you to ask yourself something. What have you done?
more»
by Boyd Taylor
A fraud, a con, a liar, a cheat, call me what you want but I have live a greater life than you. I have seen the
world and seen my name in books. You may not approve of what I’ve done along the way, but at least I
have achieved something. So curse me for my crimes, the lord knows I have committed many, but when
you set down your book I want you to ask yourself something. What have you done?
more»
Petite Suite
by Robert Wexelblatt
Thousands take to their feet. A drawn-out rumble of encouragement rolls over the field, over the players too
but without easing their ferocious concentration. Tension, the straining of those surrounding them thrills the
crowd, tightens the players’ muscles, whets everyone’s eyesight.
more»
by Robert Wexelblatt
Thousands take to their feet. A drawn-out rumble of encouragement rolls over the field, over the players too
but without easing their ferocious concentration. Tension, the straining of those surrounding them thrills the
crowd, tightens the players’ muscles, whets everyone’s eyesight.
more»
Married to a Medico: The Cycles of Absense
by Suvi Mahonen
Saturday 27 July 1996
Well this sucks. Now that Luke’s finally working he never seems to be at home. I know that’s karma back to me.
All those fights we had last year. I’d come back from work. The unit’s a mess. Luke’s got home from uni hours ago.
Breakfast dishes done? No. And there’s extra ones from his come-home snack. Laundry put away? No. Ironing? Ha
ha. What about the bathroom or vacuuming? No way. He doesn’t have time! He’s too busy studying.
January really was the pivotal month. Beginning of the year. Beginning of our marriage. Beginning of his internship.
Talk about extremes.
more»
by Suvi Mahonen
Saturday 27 July 1996
Well this sucks. Now that Luke’s finally working he never seems to be at home. I know that’s karma back to me.
All those fights we had last year. I’d come back from work. The unit’s a mess. Luke’s got home from uni hours ago.
Breakfast dishes done? No. And there’s extra ones from his come-home snack. Laundry put away? No. Ironing? Ha
ha. What about the bathroom or vacuuming? No way. He doesn’t have time! He’s too busy studying.
January really was the pivotal month. Beginning of the year. Beginning of our marriage. Beginning of his internship.
Talk about extremes.
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Dream Runner
by Luanna Azzarito
Good evening.
My name is Blank and I’m a runner.
Though you don’t know me, I know you. I’ve been at podiums like this, in rooms exactly like this one before.
Staring at pairs of eyes just like yours staring at me.
So bear with me.
Mine is a disconcerting category to fall under. It creates a feeling of homelessness, a lack of self-identity. I’m
not sure if I’ve ever been whole. I do know I never felt so and most definitely don’t feel so now.
more»
by Luanna Azzarito
Good evening.
My name is Blank and I’m a runner.
Though you don’t know me, I know you. I’ve been at podiums like this, in rooms exactly like this one before.
Staring at pairs of eyes just like yours staring at me.
So bear with me.
Mine is a disconcerting category to fall under. It creates a feeling of homelessness, a lack of self-identity. I’m
not sure if I’ve ever been whole. I do know I never felt so and most definitely don’t feel so now.
more»
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Poetry
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Essays
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Short Stories
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Essays
Issue One
Issue Three
Issue Three
The Real Boy
by Alexandria Hodge ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue Four ¤ 08.25.10
They're sitting at Barnes and Noble. He's leaning across the small cafe table, engaging in overly exciting
conversation. She's looking at him with a perpetual smile on her lips, the type of smile that is secret, meant
more for herself than this boy.
more»
by Alexandria Hodge ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue Four ¤ 08.25.10
They're sitting at Barnes and Noble. He's leaning across the small cafe table, engaging in overly exciting
conversation. She's looking at him with a perpetual smile on her lips, the type of smile that is secret, meant
more for herself than this boy.
more»
Rolling Through the Castro
towards the San Francisco Zoo
by Joanna Grant ¤ Essay ¤ Issue Four ¤ 08.25.10
The cab driver is from Brazil—he married an American woman, a teacher, whom he met when she was on
vacation. “I pick her up and I never let her go. Till she leave,” he tells me. “Like you maybe.” We chuckle
politely at this as I’ve told him I’m a teacher. A professor, really, but I figured “teacher” was close enough what
with the thick accent and the road noise.
more»
towards the San Francisco Zoo
by Joanna Grant ¤ Essay ¤ Issue Four ¤ 08.25.10
The cab driver is from Brazil—he married an American woman, a teacher, whom he met when she was on
vacation. “I pick her up and I never let her go. Till she leave,” he tells me. “Like you maybe.” We chuckle
politely at this as I’ve told him I’m a teacher. A professor, really, but I figured “teacher” was close enough what
with the thick accent and the road noise.
more»
Capri
by Kerstin Demata ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue Four ¤ 08.25.10
Josie could see, through the rippling calm, Giacomo’s legs. So sturdy on land, muscled and bronzed, pumping
up stairs, through cobblestones, onto trains—but underwater, they looked as white as beech twigs as they
swung to and fro in an awkward, slow-motion duck paddle.
more»
by Kerstin Demata ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue Four ¤ 08.25.10
Josie could see, through the rippling calm, Giacomo’s legs. So sturdy on land, muscled and bronzed, pumping
up stairs, through cobblestones, onto trains—but underwater, they looked as white as beech twigs as they
swung to and fro in an awkward, slow-motion duck paddle.
more»
Circus Octopus
by Chris Vaughan ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue Four ¤ 08.25.10
Between midnight and predawn it’s suicide silent. The moody light of life’s refrain mists over
the world. In these crepuscular cavities there are men and women who think of nothing but a
blissful oblivion of their own. Beyond and beside this there’s nothing.
more»
by Chris Vaughan ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue Four ¤ 08.25.10
Between midnight and predawn it’s suicide silent. The moody light of life’s refrain mists over
the world. In these crepuscular cavities there are men and women who think of nothing but a
blissful oblivion of their own. Beyond and beside this there’s nothing.
more»