by Ariella Neulander “Shall we take my Prius?” suggests my daughter. She thinks I don’t know why she’s asking, but I do. And I won’t have it. It’s bad enough that she’s decided to come with me to my doctor appointment; she’s not going to take over the driving too….
by Robert Steward Lisbon, Portugal 2003 “Um bilhete de volta para Cacém, se faz favor,” I said to the man in the railway station ticket office. “Cacém?” he asked, tapping away on his computer. He had a Benfica football badge on the lapel of his blue jacket. “Sim,” I replied. Next…
By: Adir E. Golan Maery MacTauthenach followed the fading footprints that stained the snow crimson. With each step the snow revealed a deeper, darker imprint. Bleeding. Maery padded faster. Whoever was injured had to be close, the dulled prints had changed from boots to narrow stretches of furrows. Crunching snow…
by M. Guendelsberger My brother Pete was the one to find it once that dry tape finally gave way and the photo drifted down to the black and white tile of my dead grandmother’s basement floor. We had been stacking the chairs on that table, flipping them upside down so…
by Richard Compean Janice got to the registration desk at the Lakeland Econo Lodge just in time to hear the desk clerk inform the elderly couple in front of her that they had gotten the last available room, not their only disabled access room, but a “studio king” on the…
by Chantae Eaton “Beep beep, beep beep.” His alarm sounded promptly at six a.m., the same as it had every Monday since his eighteenth birthday. Today it did not fulfill its duty in rousing him. Rufus was already awake and had been for some time. He’d spent the last three…
by Amy Southard Jodi looked at the clock on the nightstand and saw that it was 11:11 PM. She laid in the magnificent king-sized four poster bed waiting for her husband Mark to join her. Neither of them had stayed in a place so fancy before, not because they couldn’t…
by Christopher Hines It was a crisp October evening. The sun had just begun to set on the horizon and the sky was a mix of vibrant red and boorish gray. What leaves remained on the trees and lined the park had turned shades of oranges and yellows with some browns….
by Adina Edelman I smell death. The stench isn’t unbearable; more like the lingering odor of a tuna sandwich left out too long. But it brings up a heavy feeling inside me, a sickening anticipation for what is to come. I stroll down the locker-lined hallway, my boots making no…
by Jessica Bailey The knock came at the most inopportune time. Cassie paused. The whir of her mixer ploughing through the ingredients for a velvet cake was difficult to hear over. The rain pouring buckets outside certainly didn’t help. But then her buzzer sounded, and she hurriedly turned off the…