The water shivers as it splits open, winding from the west. The boat is cold, a cast iron carcass, sleeving through the deep-down weeds and choking fish and ash-sugar surface without a sound. The only sound is the slick of the horse’s tail, filched up by flies. Mist sits on the water like a layer of fat. The water smells of underground, of church stones.
Continue reading “Collar by Meg Woodward”
Prelude: Native American legend has it that the Pascagoula tribe preferred death by drowning to lives of enslavement by their enemies. According to one “mist of time” story, men, women, and children were heard chanting to their ancestors while walking en masse into this Mississippi coastal river. Receptive listeners, recreating on these waters, have long reported phantom music. In 1985, historians successfully lobbied for a name change, from the Pascagoula to the Singing River.
Continue reading “The Night the River Sang by Claire Massey”
Okay, strap in. Today is the turn of our beloved editor. Hugh Cron. Hugh is a founder member of the site and has worked incredibly hard over the years keeping it together in spite of personal and professional challenges. His Saturday posts are legendary and his cannon of writing extensive and diverse. So, who is Hugh:
Continue reading “Sunday Whoever”
Now that it is officially autumn, Andy and Alfie the Feral Cats are bulking up for winter. Well, actually only Andy, because Alfie is already beefy as it is. He’s a rarity, a Feral Cat who has a double chin. Andy, however, changes his body type with the season. During the warm months he sheds his long coat and becomes lean and ripples with muscles. Come September he begins eating twice his normal amount and by the time November rolls around he looks like a fuzzy Tapir.
Continue reading “WEEK 448- Bulking Up; Another Fine Week; Annoying TV Characters”
“Alright alright, I gotta tell you about this time Cole almost kissed Jane. Cole’s a good guy, a bit of a fucking nerd if you ask me, but a good guy, an accountant at this firm, just a little one downtown. Doesn’t look like a whole lotta money flows through it. Cole usually parks like a half a block down. Sometimes, it’s really nice out, then I think he walks the whole way to work, something like 7 blocks maybe, but it’s got that shit intersection off State.”
“Right, hate that fucking intersection.”
Continue reading “That Time When Cole Almost Kissed Jane by August Miller”
I am bleeding out on Corbin Harrow’s million-dollar, Moroccan, cream-colored rug because he raped a child in 1983. The blood rushing out of the hole just above my right hip-bone runs down my leg and pools at the rug’s edge. The spirit of my mother suddenly possesses me then, and I turn my head to Corbin, frozen only feet from me—still holding the fire poker he’s just pulled out of my side—to tell him that if he acts now, he can still get the stain out. After all, it’s only on one corner.
Continue reading “Corbin Harrows Moroccan Rug by Reese Alexander”
Adam likes to trade celebrities. He says it makes him feel a little better after someone he particularly revered has died.
Continue reading “The Shrew’s Tale by Simon Nadel”
When I was six or seven and attending a segregated Black school in Virginia, I had a crush on the smartest girl in our class. Gloria was not only smart but cute and friendly to everyone.
Continue reading “I Can See Clearly Now by Frederick K Foote”
Translated from the Korean by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton
The particles of snow, barely visible at first, thickened as the day wore on.
The nuisance of having to leave the comfort of home was tempered by the childlike effervescence triggered in me by this the first snowfall of the season.
Continue reading “Reunion – A miniature by O Chŏnghǔi”
From the two sides to every story department, we present The Last Lost Eye by Marco Etheridge.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Last Lost Eye by Marco Etheridge”
literally stories 