I am cursed with my very own personal psyops helicopter, a flying machine that takes me anywhere it wants to go, no matter how much I beg it to leave me be. Matte black, of course, updated constantly—the latest sensors, time travel, you name it. Highly sensitive to excruciating shame, humiliation, and social embarrassment. Fully automated, sentient, and merciless.
Continue reading “Helicopter by Marco Etheridge”
Dean cradles the pint glass like it’s the only thing holding him together. I don’t know how he survived losing Sophie and the baby in the same night, but eight months later he’s made it to The Lantern on Christmas Eve.
Continue reading “One for the Road by Neil James”
The soft couch encouraged recollection. The locked door made it more difficult. A space heater ticked rhythmically in the corner. Lying prone, Johnson stared at the ceiling, and into his past.
Continue reading “The Bottom Drawer by Foster Trecost”
I was looking out the front window, watching the snow fall, waiting for the mailman to come with my disability check. Jesus, the snow is sticking now, and my tires are bald. I needed to deposit that check today. I was out of food, running low on whiskey, and I still owed Mrs. Schmidt half the rent for this little shithole of a duplex. Fuck my life. Then, I got the call.
Continue reading “Alterations by JD Clapp”
(Editors’ note: Happy Easter to everyone. And we thank Daniel for forgiving us (me) for misplacing his accepted story, which we are pleased to run today–LA)
The funeral is held in a large generation-spanning cemetery, with manicured lawns and polished granite headstones for the average, marble for the more-than-so, and pieces of nondescript rock hastily and carelessly inscribed for those who thought someone important enough for a marker, but not enough to break the bank.
Continue reading ” Eulogy by Daniel R. Snyder”
I finished shaving. A $10 coffee shop gift card was in the car, and although I knew I should hit the weights and take my usual morning walk, I also felt like a lazy day was not a bad idea.
Janice nudged me aside on her way to the ensuite.
‘What’s up?’ she asked.
‘Dunno,’ I said while pawing through the underwear drawer for just the right pair—supportive but not too bossy.
Continue reading “The Margin of the River by Mitchell Toews”
The first message on Elana’s iCom pulsed red as she stepped out of harassment training. This job gave her no time to breathe. When she’d signed on, they’d told her the cadence would be intense, like drinking water from an Old World firehose. Ironic, for obvious reasons. Just the thought of filtered droplets made her throat hum. Given the time, given her title as Head of Human Resources and Logistics, making jokes about water wasn’t ever in good taste.
It was her tenth day.
Continue reading “Human Resources by Salena Casha”
On that day, as on most days, the 8:22 was right on time. Book in hand, I boarded a nearly empty car and secured a seat facing west, so as to avoid the blistering fire of a Colorado sunrise. The city burned amber and rose as the doors dinged closed and the train lurched forward. I gazed out the window as we glided out of downtown, past campus, and under 6th Avenue. At Broadway we met I-25, which we would parallel for the remainder of the journey south.
Continue reading “Missed Connections by J.D. Strunk”
The sun is too hot for May, and my arm is starting to burn. That’s what I’m thinking of when I’ve missed my afternoon bus. That and my sister, Julia. My name is Elijah William Scott. And I am the reason my sister is dead. There’s a shortcut you can take off of Sawmill Road to get to our house. I don’t take it anymore. I don’t need to look at the drawings, the flowers, the “We Miss You” signs. It’s all bullshit. It doesn’t mean anything. She won’t know.
Continue reading “Julia by Chloe M. Dehon”
She was the craggy-faced, big-boned, broken-nose blonde on the ripe side of 50 working the night shift at the front desk at the small New Hampshire Hotel.
Continue reading “Checking In by Frederick K Foote”
literally stories 