I park Nate’s Mustang convertible on the darkest stretch of the bridge, far from the street lamps, where the wind hums an eerie tune through the rails and the thrashing current of the river drowns out any voice of reason. My cell phone shrieks and pierces the competing noises of the night. It’s him. I answer.
“Esther! Where the hell’s my car?”
Continue reading “The Sound of the Spare Key by Zenith Knox”
During the early days of the site, long before I arrived, even pre-dating Tom Sheehan, the original five Editors had to fill many of the empty slots until a backlog was finally secured (currently it holds steady at about three months’ worth).
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Snow by Diane”
Everybody prefers iceberg lettuce. That’s always been true, but these days it’s bougie to admit it. Before, if someone told you they favored romaine, or worse yet kale, they were lying, but at least it revealed their rank. I’m not white trash, they’d tell themselves. Iceberg is what you eat if you live in a trailer park, it’s what they put in gas station sandwiches.
Continue reading “Everybody Prefers Iceberg Lettuce by Geneviève Goggin”
For the first time in our lives, we have come to know true terror, the kind that turns human beings into prey, hunted like chickens in the bush. The air in our village is thick with fear, the nights are filled with silence, broken only by muffled sobs and the hurried whispers of those who dare to speak of the evil that has gripped us. The weight of despair sits heavily upon our chests, making each breath feel stolen, each step feels uncertain. Every passing second is a countdown to an unknown fate, and every heartbeat is a reminder of our helplessness.
Continue reading “The Voice of the Poor- A Cry for Justice by Torsaa Emmanuel Oryiman “
As the hot afternoon ticked by, Lizzie thought they wouldn’t show. Then, far off, a vehicle coming down that dusty road. A car, not a truck.
It got closer and the passenger door was opening even before it stopped. Then Charlene was out and running to Lizzie, and Lizzie, she was jumping straight into her big cousin’s smile. Both of Charlene’s hands were on either side of Lizzie’s face.
‘Oh, I’ve missed you!’ said Charlene. ‘You been all right, baby? Have you?’
Continue reading “Lizzie by Richard Hulse”
I moved the boiling eggs to the cold burner. Hopefully Edward wasn’t lactose intolerant. I was making my famous potato salad. The newscaster sounded solemn—something about a landslide—Indonesia or somewhere. Then almost musically, “Onto the local murders.”
Continue reading “Potato Salad and Mixed Drinks by Christopher Ananias”
Ginny was raised on violin lessons and minimal parental supervision. The combination very nearly landed her in a windowless room in the detention center in Brooklyn, and if Callum hadn’t gotten away with the dogs just when he did, even his street smarts might not have saved her.
“You are not here to become a man, because to become a man you must first learn the rules of love,” Vikram Paya, the best of us, began on the first day of the Dhoon School Weekly Newspaper class. “No, my old sons of Bombay, my riotous banchods of Delhi, you fish-eating Bengalis, and the rest of you celestial bodies, suburbanites, the few villagers—you are here to go to better places, because, after all, The Dhoon School is but a waiting-place for Cambridge, for Oxford… for the lucky few of you—here, you will not learn to be great men but exemplary boys…”
Continue reading “The Rules of Love by Arjun Shah”
It started on Facebook, a notice from a neighborhood dog fanciers’ page about somebody dousing a piece of steak with anti-freeze and tossing it over a fence to an unsuspecting dog, which ate the meat and died. (Apparently these attacks have been happening for quite a while now, and they believe it is the same man.) Then it was taken up by the neighborhood listserv, the modern-day call-tree, and further warnings about this criminal – described as a bald white man in his sixties – prompted an outpouring of fear and outrage. (He appears to be targeting pitbull breeds in the Lakeview area of Potawatomi Rapids.) A vigilante call went out; posters went up on phone polls; you heard nervous chatter in the grocery. You could practically hear the bugle summoning us to action. (Let’s work together and catch this guy so no more of our neighborhood pets have to suffer from his horrible acts. PLEASE SHARE & SPREAD THE WORD!!!)
Continue reading “Bald White Man in His Sixties by J C Rammelkamp”
Snow White had had a hard day. Her spirits needed a lift, so she decided to break a rule of a lifetime and sample some of her own product. Although her real name was Pearl, she had adopted the nickname her suppliers had given her, “Snow”, because she was the major distributor of cocaine on the west coast.
Continue reading “Snow White Meets Little Red Riding Hood by Tony Dawson”
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