SUPERMARKET PAPERBACK – By Mike Dorman
SUPERMARKET PAPERBACKBy Mike Dorman
Fifty miles west of Bloomington lies Hillsboro, a monument to middle-class malaise. A fifteen-mile break from the real world, a stucco strip mall oasis in the vast Midwest horizon. The...
HE STOPPED – By Harlan Yarbrough
HE STOPPEDBy Harlan Yarbrough
In the four years I spent tracking Brian Jacobsen, my opinion regarding his whereabouts reversed itself several times. Although I didn’t know him personally, several of my friends and acquaintances did—that’s...
PALMIRO – By Jose Recio
PALMIROBy Jose L. Recio
“I’m tired of your laziness!” Silvia leaves the apartment and slams the door behind her. Palmiro, feeling harassed, jumps out of bed and walks into the bathroom; he hates that she...
JUST BEFORE HE PAINTED THE HANDS – By A. A. Reinecke
JUST BEFORE HE PAINTED THE HANDSBy A. A. Reinecke
It was a good day: one of those summer days that come in a weeklong string like a muslin handkerchief laid over the calendar when the...
THE ROME CLUB – By Leah Sackett
THE ROME CLUBBy Leah Sackett
There were six of them, each there for the same reason: Big Mike, Vince, Joe, Tommy, Sal, and Frank. The Rome Club was an old country tradition. They had buried...
HOW THE FIRE STARTED – By Melissa DosSantos Sullivan
HOW THE FIRE STARTEDBy Melissa DosSantos Sullivan
Marian kept the pills in an old sugar bowl on the top of the refrigerator her mother had bought new in 1948. Her arthritic hand cramped as she...
THROUGH MY BROTHER’S EYES – By Mike Tupa
THROUGH MY BROTHER’S EYESBy Michael Jerry Tupa
"C'mon, man.""Ferget it, dude. Like, I ain't in the mood for trompin' around Mt. Piedi tonight and eatin' cold grits. I got me a ding-dong date tonight with...
PILLOW TALK – By Jerry Johnson
PILLOW TALK By Jerry Johnson
"For the rain it raineth every day." - from Twelfth Night, by William Shakespeare
GREG AND HOLLY“Greg?”“What?”“Aren’t you asleep?”“No, I’m not asleep. I was watching the Moon through the window. And watching you...
THE DESERT SWALLOWS THE RIVER – By Krista Diamond
THE DESERT SWALLOWS THE RIVERBy Krista Diamond
The waitress at the empty diner in Sanderson had fake nails on her fingers and a gun on her hip. I sat alone and ate a hamburger and...
HOUSEPLANT FUNERALS – By Robert Keast
HOUSEPLANT FUNERALSBy Robert Keast
“Would bagpipes be possible?” Mrs. Stewart asked.“Of course.”“You could arrange that?”“Certainly,” I said.And I can. Honoring such requests is what I am called to do.“Could it be someone who knows ‘Amazing...