by G. K. Nickless Where do dreams go to die? From my place at the dining room table overlooking the back yard, I can see tips of multiple, wet, warped and abandoned stakes protruding from the snow, scattered at intervals four feet wide by eight, twelve, fourteen, or sixteen feet…
by Raj Davis The clanging of bottles and glasses sound like the perfect symphony. Is there any better way to spend the evening than sipping on a Budweiser, crunching on cashews, while hearing the collective chatter of dozens of cops on a night after a long shift? Bill doubts there…
by Jessica Purdy With our husbands, we climb the mine’s walls, to a ledge where moss beds dressed with red flowers cloak the blooming mica, thin glassy sheaves of black and silver, delicate petals, stiff as metal. Our ascent leaves trails of pulverized rock. Mica dust spirited on the air…
by Tammye Huf “Did you burn your mouth?” “What? No.” My hand flew instinctively to grope at my mouth, searching for my injury. “You’ve got a white spot right there.” Kevin bent in and gently kissed the corner of my mouth. It didn’t hurt, my burn, so I kissed him…
by Daniel Charles Ross Traffic sucked. Traffic always sucks, of course. The worst form of standing in line is in traffic. My little town, a suburb of another already small town, had found a chunk of federal road budget they had to spend or lose it, so they tore up…
by Christy Bailes Silky froth seeps through the window cracks and battles with a 1950s cast-iron radiator heater. The smell of vanilla frosting wakes Anne from two-hour’s worth of slumber. Still dressed with last night’s clothes, she sits up in bed. Vodka and pill bottles tumble off her legs and…
by Margaret McNellis Rose’s elbows trembled. A drop of sweat splashed onto the red jigsaw mat beneath her face. She scrunched her eyes shut and tried to remember to breathe. She tried to remember that this was what she wanted. She tried to remember that she signed up for this,…
by Megan Vered I knew that Mom would not linger. My impression is that people die the way they live, and Mom was efficient. I called my siblings and all the grandchildren that lived nearby. “If you want to say good-bye, go. Now.” I called James and told her I could…
by J.L. Amos Disposable Life That lipstick smeared Dixie cup you drank from once. Those roses – snipped at the bud and pinned to your lapel. The paper veil, merely napkins in the wind, animated by the door slam of your departure. Cellophane kisses, smothered by their very nature, simply…
by Haley Kral Katie waved to her boyfriend, Jake, trying to signal him to get his car out from in view of the house. He had the headlights turned off, but there was still a chance of her parents hearing the engine or looking out to see the late model…