by John Grey As the model posed on an attic divan,the artist’s brush fought tirelesslyagainst the two dimensions of the canvas,to convince the eyethat there were really three. Then he waged war against her surfaces,gave what he saw as her true selfmore attention in the portraitthan the simple bow of…
by Matthew Boxer Dr Wilbur R. Hilliard studied the stars, and Dr Arlen Menlo explored subatomic particles and, in particular, the tiniest of such particles, neutrinos, while Dr Wayne Q. Ellington, an ambitious man, concerned himself with everything else in between. Dr Hilliard investigated red giants, blue giants, New York…
by John Mulligan I am a critic, and as I am a critic I criticise this and criticise that, professional at these things, a true, dedicated critic. Now, I am not a literary critic like that Hazlitt, Bradly, Belinsky, Schlegel; but a critic of the movies and not writing for…
by Nolo Segundo If you really want to join the Club of the Old,there’s not much you have to do–just stay alive and wait—andone day—it will seem sudden–you’ll stop lying to yourself—andyou’ll accept the mirror’s wordas truth (for what mirror can lie?)and on that saddest day you’ll say(though still only…
by Russell Rowland When a storm comes down from the mountains,coniferous pines and deciduous oaksstiffen their backbones to bear the brunt of it. You can almost sense this,around you, if the forecast hasn’t kept you home. Birds take heed from the trees,and tighten those little talons. They weather outwhat they…
by Kit Zimmerman This story contains death and drug abuse. “Why’re you putting on makeup?” Julian asked. “Are you going somewhere?” “Yeah, maybe,” Kallie responded, leaning closer to the bathroom mirror. Her steady hand—adorned with chipped red nail polish, cheap rings, and tan lines in place of the frayed friendship…
by Lynn Benoit This short story is an excerpt from Benoit’s novel, “Poppy Write.” Chapter 1 My parents, Charles and Irma Longstocking named their only child Poppy. Surely, they meant well. Assuming that nobody wanted to be one of three Lindas or Susans in their class at school, they gave…
by V.A. Turner “Oh, my head,” Darena’th groaned as he opened his bloodshot sapphire blue eyes a bit, daylight spilling into his sleeping area from the open arched stone window frames and stabbing his brain like an icepick. He slowly lifted his broad alabaster white head on its long, thick…
by John Grey This is the first fridge, the first stove,that we took equal responsibility for. And this is the cutting boardwhere I sliced my finger dicing onions..That is the sink.The hot tap still provideslukewarm water.The cold tap is as advertised. And look.There’s the dusty bay windowand the hole through…
by Marah McCarty (This story contains themes of miscarriage.) Blood stains are on her fingers. Suppressing feelings, she moves methodically. Flush, turn on sink, scrub her hands clean. She is now only a series of dreams. She is no longer supposed to be observant to her heartbeat or the pull…