by Jack King On a cold November morning, he made his first delivery. He stuck to personal shopping on the northeastern end of the county where forest-lined hills broke dense neighborhoods of houses on postage-stamp lots. The Hockstedtters’ place sat on a cul-de-sac. Lee donned his mask, pinched the clip…
by Rachel E. Enright “The Graveyard of Abandoned Dreams” placed first in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2021 Fall Fiction Contest. The graveyard of abandoned dreams was starting to get crowded. As far as Walt the gravedigger could see, headstones jutted out of the ground like sentries on a forgotten battlefield, weather-worn and…
by Amanda Koprowski “Between Here and There” placed second in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2021 Fall Fiction Contest. Myra says, “Let’s go on a road trip,” and Alice looks at her like she has two heads, because there is work and family and because Myra always says things like Let’s open…
by Brian Reickert “On the Lake” placed third in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2021 Fall Fiction Contest. Marc stepped into the canoe, sat on the caned seat, planted an oar on the rocky lake bottom, and pushed away from shore. Dylan waved goodbye to his mother who stood barefoot in the…
by Janet Petrine “Whispers of the Archipelago” placed fourth in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2021 Fall Fiction Contest. Locals were accustomed to the peculiarities that laced through their meager population. The strange behavior was companion to the endless winters and the harsh wilderness. For those among them with fragile souls, the…
by B. Cray “Chamomile” placed fifth in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2021 Fall Fiction Contest. Karyn found more beauty in the world when she softened her gaze. The thing she appreciated most about her bedroom was the birdfeeder Julian had placed just outside the window last spring. It was an attempt…
by Moe Hashemi (This story contains suicide.) To bring the dead to life Is no great magic. Few are wholly dead: Blow on a dead man’s embers And a live flame will start. —Robert Graves, “To Bring the Dead to Life” “How are you feeling,” he says. No hellos…
by Bailey Sweatman Lex Barrett was doing a hundred and forty-five down a highway that looked more like a farm road, thinking about the estate lawyer and her dead dad. He was recently dead – her dad, not the lawyer – and she was avoiding the appointment to hear his…
by Elisa Stancil (This story contains sexual assault.) One summer when I was still a small girl, my father—thin as a crane back then—crouched beside me on a big, flat rock, his arms and knees akimbo. His hand was steady on my shoulder as we watched the American River surge…
by Myra Bellin I have a distinct early memory of watching my mother as she diced onions for a dish she called minute steaks and onions, a greasy, delicious mess of meat better known as butter steak smothered in fried onions. After peeling the onions and slicing off each end,…