All Stories, General Fiction

Bomb Defuser Barbie by Calla Gold

The rainbow-colored, balloon-patterned gift-wrapped box sat like an invitation atop the cement stoop. The ticking sound could be heard from the sidewalk. Barbie spied the thin wire paralleling the red ribbon, rising into the frothy, rosette bow on top. Barbie’s little plastic hand followed the wire to a fold in the paper, eased the wrapping open, sawed with care through the ribbon, and cut away the paper to reveal an edge-dinged box proclaiming the presence of a Spirograph Drawing Set. I really wanted one of those.

Barbie had spent enough time in the toy store to know the weight was all wrong. It was too heavy. She fearlessly sawed a hole into the side of the box, revealing wires, a wind-up alarm clock, and a small brick of tan, clay-like material. Enough to blow the whole city block sky high. With her steady fingers, she cut the green wires and, finally, the red wire to the detonator. She then flopped back into a sitting position and told me, “That was close.”

That was the first story I told Dolores, but you haven’t met her yet.

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All Stories, Horror

Bon Appétit by Nicholas Starr Kellogg

I never liked the women that my father chased around like a puppy who’d lost his mother. Fat, short, abrasive, somehow saying more about the way he thought about himself. To me, my father was always a rock, stoic, a giving tree whose branches had been nearly hacked away by the axe of my self-indulgent, capricious, drug riddled mother. But once she went away— and I mean really went away. Locked away for so long that she’d be old and grey the next time she saw the light of day and breathed the air of the free. I’d always assumed my father would find someone that shared the same familial values as he. Not that my father was a religious fanatic, but rather he had a keen understanding that when a man becomes a father it’s that man’s responsibility to put his family first. Whether it was taking me to my grandmother’s house on Christmas Eve to open presents and eat cookies in the comfort of her love or holding my hand whenever I was sick and never leaving my side no matter how deep into the twilight we drifted. Perhaps that’s where his image of women came from, his mother. My grandmother, a woman who would wake up at 2am to get ice cream from the freezer and of course, offer me a bowl. A woman who sounded like a grizzly as she rumbled down the hallway towards her favorite closet— the fridge. Who’s that famous guy who said that all men only want to marry their mothers? I don’t know, but I think he may’ve been on to something.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Should Be Seen and Not Heard by MJ Burns

The father didn’t need to give the orders anymore ‒ the curtains were to be closed at four o’clock. Even if it was sunny. The boy blinked in the chilly shadow of the lounge and watched his father sink into his chair. The father sat where he always did: the single armchair by the hearth ‒ the deep-winged, plum one that blinkered him left and right. The boy sat opposite.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Convert by Christopher Ananias

I stood alone at my stepmother’s funeral, fondling a plant, watching rain bead down the fogged window. The funeral parlor’s black walls, and black curtains were heavy-handed leaning too much on the death knell. Ten lines of bright red chairs clashed with a maroon carpet. The organ music droned like it always did—my whole life.

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General Fiction, Short Fiction

A Body Without Organs by Miles Efron

Abdi barges into my craft room, without his glass eye. Which he knows I hate.

“Hey, Mom?” he says.

“Did that Zoom call already finish?” I ask. This homeschool group is such a jerkoff. Why do we even pay for it? I mean, I could teach him nothing by myself for free.

“I found this snowglobe eyeball online. It’s so cool. I could flip my head upside down and then…”

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All Stories

The Painted Smile by Matthew Whistance

Will stopped at the doorway of the small unkempt home, his hand grasping the door frame. He stood for a second, hesitating, before walking inside. His father had lived there for a few years before he died, but Will had only been inside the house a handful of times. The damp smell hit him as soon as he crossed the threshold. A solitary recliner sat in the corner of the living room. A TV guide perched on the arm. The place where he remembered his father the most. In front of the TV watching old shows, replying only in grunts when Will spoke to him.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Xius and his Flying Carpet Emporium by Hermester Barrington

Xius waved at the family driving away in their BMW M3—it had license plate frames from his cousin’s dealership—with their brand new Fénix rolled up and strapped to its roof. He locked his showroom’s front door, hit a switch, and the sign reading “New and Used Flying Carpets!” flickered out. Sighing as he tried to ignore the worn linoleum, and the faded map of the world, marked with places such as El Dorado, Xanadu, and St. Brigid’s Well, he gathered together his receipts—paperwork would take him about two hours, he figured. He smiled as he thought of his daughters nagging him to get a computer, but he didn’t see the point, now—he had been at this for almost forty years, and every day seemed as if it might be the last.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Winter Solstice by Mary Jo Thomas

Police had already handcuffed Roy Stafford and were placing him inside a cruiser when Susan Roberts arrived. Betty Stafford lay on a gurney that the EMS team hurriedly lifted into their van. Flashing her ID to one of the cops, Susan asked, “Where are the girls? Are they OK?”

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All Stories, Fantasy

Kiri by Sarah Hozumi

Oslac toiled his way through the woods beyond his home, stopping to allow his daughter to catch up to him but not daring to look at her. His ears faithfully absorbed the beautiful sounds of his daughter humming to herself while picking her way among the roots of the trees, and his heart began to splinter. They had been walking for half a day now, their pace waylaid by Kiri’s wandering attention. He heard her attempt to whistle at a bird in a low branch nearby and thought about just turning home.

Still, the thing had to be done.

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