Tag: relationships

All Stories, General Fiction

The Night the River Sang by Claire Massey

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Prelude: Native American legend has it that the Pascagoula tribe preferred death by drowning to lives of enslavement by their enemies. According to one “mist of time” story, men, women, and children were heard chanting to their ancestors while walking en masse into this Mississippi coastal river. Receptive listeners, recreating on these waters, have long reported phantom music. In 1985, historians successfully lobbied for a name change, from the Pascagoula to the Singing River.

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General Fiction

That Time When Cole Almost Kissed Jane by August Miller

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“Alright alright, I gotta tell you about this time Cole almost kissed Jane. Cole’s a good guy, a bit of a fucking nerd if you ask me, but a good guy, an accountant at this firm, just a little one downtown. Doesn’t look like a whole lotta money flows through it. Cole usually parks like a half a block down. Sometimes, it’s really nice out, then I think he walks the whole way to work, something like 7 blocks maybe, but it’s got that shit intersection off State.”

“Right, hate that fucking intersection.”

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All Stories, General Fiction

Reunion – A miniature by O Chŏnghǔi

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Translated from the Korean by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton

The particles of snow, barely visible at first, thickened as the day wore on.

The nuisance of having to leave the comfort of home was tempered by the childlike effervescence triggered in me by this the first snowfall of the season.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Love by Djordje Negovanovic

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The succubus child was not supposed to fall in love.

“Demon, please, a child for my wife,” the desperate man pleaded.

The succubus child was not supposed to fall in love.

“I have tried and tried and tried, Demon, but I cannot rear a child. Please, for her. She deserves this happiness.”

The succubus child was not supposed to fall in love.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Week 446: Influences; Site Influencers and Under the Influence

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Influence

When in a certain mood my mother could kill a good vibe with a comment more quickly than the Andromeda strain can wipe out a small town in the desert. There would be a get together of family and friends, and everyone would be chatting and having a nice time and she would inevitably have to say something like:

“It’s sad to think we will all be as dead as people in old movies someday.” Then she’d cast an innocent glance around the room (which included children) then add “Ever wonder who’ll kick first?”

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All Stories, General Fiction

Don’t Mess with Me by Harrison Kim

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Seventeen-year-old Jackson hunched up tight against the school wall smoking and laughing to himself, waiting for the bus and coming out of a daydream about performing at Carnegie Hall.  He noticed how brightly the dandelions bloomed on the sides of the culvert; the birch leaves fluttered above them.  He stubbed out his cancer stick.  His friend Robert P. hustled up, hauling a guitar stained dark brown with linseed oil.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Penny Loafers by Connor Beck

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Crammed like rats, I drove our home, laden with trash, through much of the Midwest. While Mariane dreamt in the passenger seat, scrunching her half-asleep body into the shape of a ‘G.’ I could tell by the subtle way her breath swayed upon each crack in the road, she was dreaming of her.

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Short Fiction

WEEK 444: Bug-Bird And Dreams

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DREAMING

Many writers are influenced by their dreams and nightmares–or at least that is the claim. I don’t dispute the possibility but if I had to lean on my dreams for material my stuff would be sparse and even stranger. A fine example of such happened just the other night when I experienced a dream I call “Bug-Bird.” My mind was in a white page and just ahead skulked Bug-Bird. Half Moth, half Pigeon and clad in a flasher’s raincoat and wearing a fedora, I could only see Bug-Bird from behind. But I spied antennae through holes in his hat, tail feathers and Pigeon feet. Bug-Bird staggered forward and I was gaining on him (only a guy would dare be Bug-Bird). I recall wanting to tap him on the shoulder and have a look at Bug-Bird but that is when I woke, with the words Bug-Bird, Bug-Bird, Bug-Bird chanting in my mind by what might be called a “sulfurous chorus” of demon voices. Hardly bestseller material there–and perhaps the only way Bug-Bird can get into print is through something like this.

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