Tag: relationships

All Stories, General Fiction

Elbows With Fishes by Leila Allison

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Holly More first got drunk at the reasonably late age of nineteen. On a late summer Saturday night in 1977, he dropped in on a pair of college classmates who shared a shithole studio apartment at the base of Seattle’s Capitol Hill. The roomies extolled the virtues of “Bokay” apple wine, which sold for sixty-nine cents a bottle. Ritzy nectars such as Boone’s Farm, T.J. Swann and, Allah-forbid, Lancer’s were too fancy-pants pricewise for students who earned $2.10 an hour at Work Study jobs. That left MD 20/20, Night Train, Thunderbird and Bokay. Since the first three were what the Pioneer Square bums drank, the guys went with the Bokay. Holly later found out that Bokay was the wine of last resort amongst the Pioneer Square bums.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing

Jim’s Aunts by Hugh Cron

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I’ve always liked Gin.

Straight gin that is.

I know exactly where it started…My love for the gin.

I used to go to my mum’s boss’s house with my parents and I was allowed the odd can of beer. One night that we were there, his old aunties were visiting.

Weird they were.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Dodging Traffic by Tim Frank

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Nina and I were just kids when we started running into oncoming traffic. Dodging cars was something that felt natural – a part of growing up, facing demons we didn’t know we had. We’d sit on the low curb, flicking crisps into the gutter like cards into a top hat, then as we heard the rumbling of a car approach, we clamped hands and dashed into the street. We experienced short spurts of ecstasy, drifting away on a sublime high and yet the feelings were short-lived, elusive.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Circles by Leila Allison

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The pomp with the primered Ranchero dropped three stacks of jackrags in the alley behind Elmo’s Adult Books and rang the bell. This happened every other Saturday afternoon. Sometimes the pomp waited for old Elmo to waddle back, sometimes he’d drive off before the fat fuck unlocked the back door. It was one of the times the pomp drove off first. Tess stood lookout, and I dashed from our side of the alley, snatched a bundle, and got back under cover with seconds to spare. Then it was off to Fort Oxenfree, leaving Elmo a little poorer.

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General Fiction, Short Fiction

Paperboat by Kenrick Pinto

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The last paper boat. At least Herman hoped it was, watching it float away. Transported by the Danube to a world far from his own. A world without weapons and bombs. Without destruction. Where dreams didn’t die, where they weren’t shattered. Where men lived. He watched as it carried a tale of love, of loss, of grief and of war. Is that why they call it the Black sea, he wondered. All emotions coalescing to form a black, murky mass. Was the sea black inside, hiding behind a shade of blue, flowing nonchalantly. Like the people around him, hiding their sadness behind a smile. It will all be alright, they said. To others, to themselves. That it was destiny. There was nothing they could do, and the world would return to normalcy. It had to. Someday.

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All Stories, Romance, Short Fiction

 Sexual Healing by Adam Kluger

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romantic fiction sexual healing

It wasn’t a lifetime but 37 years was a good stretch of time.

After a particularly vivid dream where the two spoke again finally, and connected intimately in the lobby of the apartment building he grew up in, Craig Bugowski woke up happy, and fished for his iPhone.

Karrie M. was on his list of Facebook friends.

She had accepted his FB invite two years prior.

Her birthday was a month ago. She was a Gemini.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Or I Could Be by CK Bern

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The manicurist left lye out among the pedicure chairs, struggling to maintain the salon to her standards, but the We’re Open sign was only half true and gone were the days her window said No Walk-Ins. After a customer burned skin off both feet, she kept things hygienic and let the overall harmony of the salon decay. One afternoon, the bamboo chimes stirred, announcing the arrival of three women. Breasts so large, the first woman was on the verge of tipping forward. A second woman lumbered under an oily mane. A third burbled, lips swollen and barely moving like two dowels in the teak plate of her face.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Punch drunk by Alex Sinclair

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Billy circles to the right, away from Blaine’s money shot.

The big right-hand snaps out like a snake and Billy slips it and it goes over his shoulder.

Billy digs a hook into Blaine’s side, trying to tag the floating rib and bust it.

Blaine winces and drops his hands, only slightly, to cover up.

Billy flicks out a jab. Once, twice, aiming for the nose.

Blaine’s head jerks back and sweat droplets spray off his head.

Billy’s dad always said the jab is as important to a boxer as a paintbrush is to an artist.

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