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”
“What the people believe is true.”
—Nanabush, Son of the West Wind, Grandson of the Moon
I was a story I told myself.
My body required mechanical help with inputs and outputs, causes and effects—the purpose of one function needed to be fitted to the function of a higher purpose, from swerve of nerve to bend of bone, synapse to neuron across the junctions electric.
Body shifts, reflex tests, muscle pulls were performed. Others asked questions neither understood nor answerable.
Continue reading “The Story of Jimmy Gray by Gerald Coleman”
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“Hi,” I said when Anna-Lou finally answered the door. She looked like hell but that greatly improved when I showed her a thirty milligram bottle of Methadone. I had guessed her situation correctly and for the first time in ages I had the power to ease suffering.
“Sarah–what?” She said, confused, as she had a right to be. I imagine she experienced a moment similar to wishing for something utterly impossible and seeing it come true. In the forty years I had known her, not once had I directly addressed “her condition.”
Continue reading “The Designated Shepherd by Leila Allison”
In her dream she was speaking a language she did not know and had never heard before and when she woke to the half-light and strangeness of her room some words of it were still on her tongue. There was a dry and bitter taste in her mouth and her fists were clenched. Her body ached as if she were a traveller returned from some far off border of the world.
Continue reading “Borderland by David Calcutt”
Conceived in a biker bar bathroom. His mother named him after his father, who everyone knew as Spider. Born with a hole in his heart. All his older girl cousins loved to lift his toddler shirt. Trace the vertical scar splitting his chest in two. His mother quit school in the tenth grade. Quit working at the Dollar Store after becoming pregnant. Before Baby Spider’s third birthday, his father got himself stabbed to death with a broken pool cue in the same swill hole where Spider and Clyde Jr.’s mother first slung slurred flirtations at each other.
Continue reading “The Ballad of Clyde Harris Porter Jr. by Joshua Michael Stewart”
A brawl erupts at the supermarket checkout when somebody cuts in line. You’d think people would be used to it. Such behavior is practically a sport these days — along with running red lights, talking on the phone in restaurants and theaters, coughing and sneezing with uncovered mouths. Besides, there are worse things. Smash and grabs. Carjackings. Fraud. Embezzlement. Insider training.
Most people aren’t crooks, but jerks are common as cruel memes. The so-called experts say people no longer believe social norms apply because they have no empathy.
It tempts me to become a recluse like my brother.
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She’s there, behind the bar as I walk in. Immaculate white blouse, tucked into a pair of faded jeans. 501’s. Belt buckle tight at the waist. Blonde highlights in a short bob, cut into the neck. Silver ear studs. Big white teeth as she greets me.
Continue reading “Nicky by Graham Mort”
My doorknob is low. The door is regular-sized, just upside down. But I know that can’t be true because the windows are up top. So my new theory has been that the door was sawed off, like a shotgun. The point is my doorknob is lower than most and is demonstrative of what’s inside: a very small apartment. Or, as I like to call it, “My hallway by the sea.” Because I live in a beach town.
Continue reading “Scarf in the Dark by Crockett Doob”
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“You’re allergic,” Paulie tells me, running his finger around the braised red skin up my neck. “This happened before, and it’s worse this time.”
I turn back to the mirror, pulling my collar down further, straining to follow the inflamed trail that encircles my throat.
“Allergic to what?” I ask. “The ink?”
“Probably. It happens. More common with red than black, but still.”
Continue reading “Lanternalia by Will Pinhey”
Seo-woo lay flat on the floor of the shrine. He didn’t know what the g(x) was for equations f(x)=7-4x and f(g(x))=-1. He didn’t really want to because it was only fifteen minutes away from twelve. The four of them were supposed to arrive by noon. Pillowing his head on the book, he went to check their group chat for the fifth time in five minutes. It was quiet, which was good—no one was flaking. He was about to ask where they were staying again when he stopped himself. He’d already asked twice. They had chosen a cheap motel in the fishing village a few kilometers away from his place. They could have stayed at his temple, and he’d said as much, but they were determined not to bother his mom or the visitors.
Continue reading “Scholars of the Rocks by Yoon Chung”
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