All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction

There’s No Bars in this Town by J Saler Drees

We were bored when we started drinking and bored when we got too drunk and bored when we stole Adee’s pickup and drove it down to the riverbank. What a joke. We laughed the whole way, that forced, bored kind that sounds like a fraud. How we mused, won’t this be funny when Adee gets off her shift and finds her truck gone.

Since no one ever locked their cars, or their doors, stealing came easy. Only problem in a town this small, you’d get caught. Didn’t matter. Stealing was more a game than a necessity, so catch us if you can, Adee.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Green Light by Ximena Escobar

Eleanor’s siren hair streamed like moon rivers on her shoulders, livened by the bluish hue emanating from the television.   Simon lay on the couch, stretching his nape just enough to kiss the glass on his chest.  The lime-green light on the baby monitor remained still.  And I, as usual, didn’t pay attention to the movie.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

The Curse by Martyn Clayton

Sometimes investigative reporters come sniffing around for news of Lionel Fetlar.  They’ve heard he’s living on the south coast now, a town that remains resolutely unfashionable while those nearby have undergone a modest transformation following the influx of the affectedly on trend from that London.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Out of Place by Adam Kluger


It was a snowy Saturday and I was headed to King Carol Record store on the Upper East Side to check out what new albums were in. Zig-Zag Records was nearby so I could swing by there as well.

It was the 1980’s and I was totally into music like the Talking Heads, Duran Duran and Devo and all the other bands that were becoming popular on a new channel called MTV.

It was late afternoon and I don’t remember if I was baked but I’d say the odds of that were 50-50.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Papi by Christopher Dehon

My parents probably spoke Spanish to each other when they lived together. I don’t remember. Dad never learned English, and Mom stopped speaking Spanish after they separated. On the weekends with my dad, I only needed two words. Sí, Papi. I know he said terrible things about my mother. I couldn’t understand him, but I was sure that they were “bitch,” “whore,” and, when my future stepfather came along “gold digger.” When he would pause and look my way. I’d say the only Spanish I knew, Sí, Papi. When I was a kid, I said this to appease him. When I was a teenager, it was because I agreed.

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