By Mary Lanctot Though he’d only ever had the meal once in his life, the most memorable breakfast Rook had ever eaten was eggs done sunny-side up. He’d been four then, nearly a decade and a half ago, yet he still remembered his mother singing softly in a language he…
By Patricia Ljutic (This story contains suicide.) My friend Lila had an ever-present yearning to be somewhere other than where she was, as if emotional burrs lodged under her skin and began pricking her before she could settle anywhere. She spoke about changing where she lived, but had such a…
By Jim Speese Songs were in his head. Constantly. It was a problem and he supposed it wasn’t unique. Given the hegemonic presence of advertising jingles and TV show themes and music pumped into grocery stores and pharmacies and hospitals, it seemed quite likely that the fact that songs constantly…
By Ruby Peru When, at ages twelve and thirteen, Maureen and I were deposited for safekeeping on an Arizona horse ranch for the duration of the summer of 1980, it was very much as if we had both dropped from outer space, but from completely different spaceships. The ultimate tomboy,…
By William Reeves It was always about the eighty-eight black and white keys, the foot pedals, the rhythm, the synchronicity between the left hand bass clef and the right hand treble clef notes. It was about the chords, the sharps, flats, naturals and the time signatures. It was never about…
By Kevin Mc Dermott ‘John’s the boss now,’ your father said. And that was the end of it. John, the prodigal, home after years on the buildings in London. John, who didn’t know his arse from his elbow. Twelve years putting your heart and soul into the fucking place, twelve…
By Susan Phillips Jim was gone. He died a hero in the Great War and Sally would never see him again. Her last glimpse of him was in his coffin, lying peacefully in his uniform, with a few medals pinned on his chest. Just before the casket was closed, his…
By Allison Lay Every detail needed to be perfect for brunch this morning. I thrifted some vintage serving trays and a solid, black oak charcuterie board. I almost left without the expensive board, but it had called to me. It was a few inches thick, and there were some imperfections…
By Aynsley Meshanic The phone rang next to her. Wendy closed her eyes, the words of Anthony Burgess now blocked from her view. (Story: A Clockwork Orange. Times read: 2. Times read understanding the language: 1. …Maybe). She took three deep breaths, trying to stop any slight tug on her…
By Brittany L. McCann (This story contains disordered eating.) The numbers on the digital scale blur through my watery eyes as the Birthday Song is belted out in a possible worst signing voice contest down the hall. I wipe the back of my arm across my eyes and stare down…