The night before, my sister sobbed a waterfall into the sleeve of my silk pajamas. My own eyes are bone dry like the wooden roof we lay under. Rain hasn’t come in weeks and the tomato plants outside are decaying like autumn leaves crumbling to dust underfoot. The market was shut down weeks ago by Japanese men with eyes painted with malice.
Continue reading “A Sister’s Promise by Grace Lee”
An agitated, grey man is staring, confused at a post box. His pet spaniel is stubbornly pulling at its lead, trying to continue its walk, but is being firmly ignored.
Continue reading “Listen to Elliott Smith by Joel Bryant”
The port had the kind of heat that clung. It didn’t shine so much as settle — in the pavement cracks, the seams of café terraces, the folds of collars, behind the knees.
The air quivered above the cobbles like it was trying to rise but couldn’t find the strength.
From inside the arcade, David watched the light outside bleach everything to the same soft-edged white. Sunhats. Pigeons. The bone-pale wall of the farmacia.
The smell was a mix of sugar, oil, and the sea — sweet one second, briny the next. Somewhere nearby, a slushie machine whirred like it was dying slowly.
Continue reading “Just Tired by Wayne Exton”
No one really knows why restoration stopped on the abandoned St. Julian hotel, where commoners and kings once came to relax in luxury.But Bernie Yocum and her brother George Winton had their suspicions. The renovation/construction company they shared had been in their family for decades.
Continue reading “Restless Souls by Alice Baburek”
In 1601, James VI of Scotland (soon to be crowned James I of England) summoned Shakespeare’s company, The Lord Chancellor’s Men, to give performances of their plays in Edinburgh and Aberdeen. In Aberdeen at least, the visit seems to have been highly successful: on October 9th, the registers of the Town Council show that the company were awarded ‘the svme of threttie tua merkis’ and Laurence Fletcher, a shareholder in the company, was elected an honorary burgess of the town. It is not known for certain whether Shakespeare was with the company, but as a shareholder and owner of the company’s stage properties, it seems quite likely that he travelled North with the rest.
Continue reading “Shakespeare Meets the Macbeths by Michael Bloor”
I have decided to cut down on my use of the exclamation mark. I have often used it as a shortcut to fake a sense of goodwill that I do not usually feel–or at not least up to the degree implied by an exclamation mark. There’s a stink on an exclamation mark, for me it reeks of perkiness and whatever potion lurks in Kathy Lee Gifford’s coffee cup. (You’ll probably have to be an American of a certain age to get that last bit. If not, lucky day: something to google.)
Continue reading “Week 555: Controlling Enthusiasm”
They broke through the jungle canopy at midmorning, damp with sweat and soft declarations of wonder. The jungle made everything softer. The air, the light. Even thoughts, if left untethered long enough. The air was thick with that sweet, vegetal stillness that only comes miles from roads, wires, and clocks. Every breath tasted green.
Continue reading “Aeris by Zachary Schwartz”
Today she is wearing yellow. Yellow dress, yellow hat, and a buttercup yellow scrunchie around her ankle. Today is a good day.
Continue reading “Tiny Squares by Shannon Murdoch”
The dragon must be hundreds of years old. She leans on the door frame and spits a flame just big enough to light her cigarette.
“Don’t expect me to fight for you,” she says.
I look at the no-smoking sign on the door and tell her I don’t expect that kind of thing from a roommate. Game of Thrones is so overrated. Never be a fan.
She nods, passes by me, and walks into the apartment as though she owns this place.
Continue reading “Movies Can’t Show What is Like to Live with a Dragon by Ann Yuan”
When you ask me to take off my pants I agree and drop them to the floor, white undies shining brighter than the clouds, which I hope will blind you to my shyness. Then I see the mantis on the doorjamb leading to the treehouse deck and say we need to stop. I’d seen one on grandma’s body right before she died. Seconds before. She saw it too, said adios, and was gone. I know a sign when I see one.
Continue reading “By Sevens by J W Goll”
literally stories 