Short Story Posts

A cup of coffee on a table in a cafe.

Fare Thee Well, Basket Face

By Steven Christopher McKnight “Fare Thee Well, Basket Face” placed fifth in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2020 Fall Fiction Contest. You see a guy at a coffee shop. He’s simple-looking. Nice hair. Good build. Impeccable forearms. His face is featureless, save for the fact that it’s made of interwoven wicker….

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Railroad Tracks

Mother Load

By Nancy Baker It was after the washing of the dinner pots and dishes, the reading of today’s paper, the tucking in bed of the younger ones. It was after I heard him say as he walked out the back door, “I’ll see you later,” and I responded, “Good luck…

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marigolds

Marigolds

By Jason Arehart Despite Samuel’s best efforts, the garden was under attack. That much was clear. He bent down and examined the plants for any uneaten fruit. All that was left were the small, hard green growths that would eventually become tomatoes. This was not the start he had wanted….

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Train

The 8:40

By Michael Silverman The morning train was relatively empty. In my car, the only passengers were a dozen black women and me. The train was heading north, and we were going to work. It was our common denominator. In the mid-1970s, I was a reverse commuter. I lived in New…

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To Cross A Raging River

By Jim De Marse I walked in the back door and smelled pot roast in the oven with gravy, peas, butter, and rolls on the side. Mom was making the gravy in a saucepan. I said hi, took off my jacket, and hung it on one of the hooks above…

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Airplane

Privilege

By David James Driving through North Hollywood, a few months shy of a legal beer, a glance in the rearview mirror suggested a mop of hair more ragged than normal. As thoughts of a haircut began to register, a storefront advertising unisex hairstyling appeared, and right in front of its…

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Car driving in snow

Counting The Ways

By Alan Gartenhaus The thud sent me racing to look out windows closed tightly against frosty north winds. Abandoning my homework, I bolted into the evening’s dark without stopping for a coat. Tire tracks in a fresh dusting of snow led to a car smashed against an oak tree on…

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Chicago

The Whisk

By Jenn Bouchard I hadn’t thought about my ex-girlfriend in years. Now Clara – or Cee, as I called her – was sitting across from me at Cannonball, my restaurant in the River North neighborhood of Chicago. She was there because I had totally messed up her life about two…

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A violin resting on its case outdoors.

The Songs of Lakewood

by J D Francis Woodrow Franklin sat resting, slowly pushing back and forth on an old, wooden bench swing that hung from a rusty chain on the front porch of the tiny cottage. It is where he has lived for thirty-seven years, alone. The bench squeaked and moaned with every…

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A bakery window filled with pastries.

Another Round

by Lisa L. Lynn In Derrick’s younger years as a baker, women and pastry were somehow all of the same dreamlike confection, heady with sugar, alternately cloying and sublime. They were so indelibly coupled that he had often tasted women as rich layers of butter and salt, almond and fruit,…

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