1990 by Johnny Olson
Being so close to death, thinking it, seeing
it and smelling it brought me a new perspective
on life.
37 Windows by Jacqueline Cioffa
My parent’s house has 37 windows and countless memories. It’s the home my Mom grew up in. I know every nook and cranny; I’ve heard all her childhood tales. It’s the 37 windows that her father, an Irishman bought with a small sum and a dream.
Achieving Equilibrium by Adam B. Miller
His sideburns are uneven, or at least people keep telling him that. So today he finally checked in the mirror, using his index fingers to mark the staggered black scrapings; he measured evenness. They’re off, minutely, but noticeably so. He didn’t like that.
Blood Kit by Jon Tait
Old drunk in a beat blue suit with shiny elbows slicked back brylcreemed hair arguing with himself holding a blue five pound note with one hand the other trying to put it back in the silky lining of his inside chest pocket...
Damage Control by Kevin Brown
It’s just a goddamn Chihuahua, you tell her and really, it’s just a goddamn Chihuahua. Leaning against the refrigerator, fresh beer in your hand, you’re careful to use the word is instead of was. She’s at the kitchen table, still crying. All because, running late for work you accidentally backed over the dog with the pick-up.
The Echoes of Infinity by
Pam Parker
Walking past the familiar sandy dune with tall sea grass, breathing deeply the same salty air of every summer past, she beseeched the sky, the earth, the powers that be. / If there can be no more summers together, let it go fast. / Let it not hurt. / Let Mother be free.
Everyone Has a Price by
Jeffrey Winke
Everyone has a price. Apparently, mine is a dollar. One sober-faced Washington on a germy rectangle of Federally-authorized, cotton-fiber paper. / Last night I was the doorman at Caroline’s Jazz Club, where I collected the five-buck cover charge from the odd assortment of customers. Among them, mismatched couples, lone men—wolves, an attractive woman with a limp, a couple of young guys with a top-heavy girl, and a pretentious dude, with his henchman and a writhing young woman, who announced that he’s with an Atlanta recording studio. “Impressive...,” I said. “That’ll be five bucks each,” as I stopped them from entering without paying.
Freckles by Meg Pokrass
Loretta, Trina, and Junie were real friends, and their backs were brown as beef jerky. None of them freckled, as I did. Freckles on my face, my arms, my back. Freckles on my lips, flecks of oil, or butter, or tomato sauce on my t-shirts. Everywhere I was spotted, defective. Only the dog's eyes followed me, as if I were banana frosting or a dog's version of it.
High Tide by Alejandra Taylor
It started with a parched throat and a rubber snorkel. / The sun had been gone for a month or more, run out of town by February. She had always hated that her birthday was buried in winter, but this year was even worse than the others past – flurries starting at the end of September, temperatures dipping well below zero by Halloween, ten snow days before Thanksgiving.
The Music Room by Heather Cadenhead
We're sitting in the music room—that is, Marj's bedroom with a piano shoved beside the bureau, a violin propped against the wall (I only told him it was a music room)—and he says, this is nice. Is it? I ask, looking around.
Points of View by Marlee Elkins
Her:
The awkward sixteen year old boy once again entered my office. Two times in a period of two days, am I a circus act or something? Perhaps I should get rid of my juggling monkeys so I stop attracting attention. I am a high school principal, aren’t kids supposed to be afraid of me? I think that I need to turn green and grow some fangs; maybe that would ward off these pesky little creatures.
.....
Him: For the second time that week, I entered Miss Johnson's office. Coincidence? I think not. Miss Johnson was a fox. She was so seductive! Her beauty was brilliant. Best of all, I knew that she liked me too!.
The Project by Judy Viertel
As our home blew up around us, I turned to my husband. This remodeling project was his idea, his gesture towards reconciliation. As the dust snowed down upon us in choking flurries, he grabbed my hand and pulled me to the door.
Say by Ethel Rohan
Say a woman, Sarah, reads in the newspaper about Betsy Clarke, her former best friend from childhood. Say the article describes how Betsy has just won twenty-six million in the New York Lottery. What if Sarah hasn’t thought about Betsy in years? That they haven’t as much as exchanged a Christmas card in over two decades.
Scarie People by Max Earl Blair
Long ago and far away in a kingdom by the sea, there was a little island where the clouds were always fluffy and the sunshine was always pink and tasted just a little like lemonade. There was a lot of candy there. Enough for everyone. The people were all so happy that they laughed so much that no one ever went to sleep. It never rained, it never snowed, the worst thing there was a grumpy old toad.
The Upstairs Neighbor by Matt Rittenhouse
I can hear, all night, the man above me walking about. Helen and I, we sleep beneath a thin ceiling, and all night above us are these hard-heeled steps. We hear him late at night in his kitchen, banging dishes in the sink, walking heavily; he never takes off his shoes. Guy upstairs I see him sometimes.
Voodoo Curse by Mel Waldman
“Doc, I think my mother-in-law put a curse on me. A voodoo curse.” / I gazed quizzically at my patient, a good looking middle-aged African-American man and a professor of physics at Columbia University. / “You’re a scientist and yet, you believe in the power of voodoo?” / “Until a week ago, I thought voodoo was a lot of nonsense, mind over matter stuff. But now, I know it’s real.” / “What happened?”...
What He Was by Roland Goity
He’d been a schoolboy, as all boys had. A good student, then a great one. / He’d been a yard hand for neighbors. And a stock boy at the local supermarket. Weekend and summer jobs, when he was young. / And he plunged head first into bright clean pools and the mucky muck. It didn’t matter the clarity of the water’s surface, just as long as he could dive.
Yum-hum by Kirsten Anderson
YUM sings your hum. / We, the Young Ultraviolet Magi (formerly the Wilson High School Marching Band Dropouts), have taken your city with power chords and grapes. Your protests are but the buzzing of flies trapped in candle wax. / Watch and learn as our lead singer, Big Boogie Mama, tapes the YUM Manifesto on the doors of Foul-Mart.
You Raped Mother and I Am Your Creation by Mel Waldman
You raped Mother and I am your creation, a dumb embryo growling, growing and howling in a mute landscape, wandering in a microscopic Waste Land, an invisible being or pre-being traveling through predestined metamorphosis on a dark journey to the other side of life.
Zuma by Kyle Hemmings
She hates the thought of ever having skin like crepe paper or memories like an unmanageable frizz. Instead, she wants a set of forever legs like the first lady, evolve into the actress wearing delicate lace or felted cashmere. She'll play the roles of dysfunctional heroines, their life-tragedies, the way everything falls back to earth.
