Auntie Bellum
Every society must schedule at least one civil war during its existence. It appears to be an unwritten cosmic law. Far be it from Saragun Springs to scoff at unwritten cosmic laws by continuously living in peace when such is considered abnormal.
Continue reading “The Saragun Civil War by Leila Allison”
Neither Mr. Dunner nor I knew which now-gone relative carefully placed the photographs in the chimneys. Had it not been for Mr. Dunner’s care, we wouldn’t have known the photographs existed. All that I know for sure is that Old Da, my grandmother, took up each newly discovered photograph and studied the emergence of her former self (portrayed in various instants), but there was more to it than that. I’ve come to believe that all the while she was either healing or dying, and I expect we were both waiting for some coda of presentiment.
Let’s go back to the beginning:
Continue reading “Most of the Things He Remembered Took Place Long Before He was Born * by J Bradley Minnick”
As I get deeper into my cronehood, this time of existence in which people either do not see me or pretend they have business elsewhere when the cowl slips, November has become my friend. The mocking young forms who strode about oh so hot to trot last summer are now buried under layers of linen and lycra and are having a hell of a hard time using their phones in the rain.
Continue reading “Week 557: Magick and Fare Thee Well Sybil Fawlty”
Five hours. That’s how long Angela had been hiding in the basement. Five. Whole. Hours.
Continue reading “Angela and the Balm by J D Strunk”
Rooooolllllll. Bang!
Rooooolllll.
Catch.
I love the solid smack of my dad’s old cue ball into my small palm. I sit against the foot of my bed rolling the ball across the floor so it ricochets off the baseboard back to myself. I’m only feeling my own momentum, but I can pretend it’s from someone else.
Something has been playing on my mind this week after eating some Japanese crackers – Do fish taste the way that they do due to the seaweed? Or does seaweed taste the way that it does due to the fish?
Continue reading “Week 556 – Two Questions, Oocha, Ooocha, Oocha Ooooo!! And Serial Killers Are Much more Interesting Than Your Kids.”
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”
“People don’t care, Rich,” she shouts. Of course, people care, she just doesn’t care, which is fine, I don’t need her to care. I can care for both of us.
Continue reading “The Importance of the Ant by Rachel Sievers”
That last blow turned my head inside out and scrambled my brains. I didn’t have a fucking clue where the hell I was, but instinct kicked in and I started bobbing and weaving—a moving target would be hard to hit. I figured I could buy some time until my head cleared. But I was so wrong. Or maybe I was right, and it was this asshole who didn’t get that a moving target was supposed to be hard to hit because the bastard clobbered me with another whopper—this one to the side of my head—making me see double, triple even.
Continue reading “The Brawler by Héctor Hernández”
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”
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