Fiction - Year II - Number 8 - July 2017

A FOTOGRAFIA De João Bernardo Dormia profundamente, como já não fazia há muito tempo, pois tinha reencontrado a felicidade e a paz de espírito. Tinha encontrado alguém com quem partilhar o bem mais precioso do mundo....

ACTION HERO’S EULOGY By Benjamin Inks Her Nike trainers splash by, crossing our path for the second time this misty, black morning, and she looks me in the eye (if only for the briefest of curious...

CLUB DE RÉSURRECTIONBy Jim Meirose Many too many too many too years. We both wonder, you know, how they’re going to do it. This is why we decided to join the Club de Résurrection. It’s...

RE-CREATION By David Mecklenburg It’s short for Adeline, but nobody calls me that. Anyway, just relax and don’t worry about it. I was going to tell you that 10,000 Union and Confederate soldiers fought on the...

CONNOISSEUR By Tabatha Jenkins I collect people like books. I gather love from each one as if they were a meadow. I once knew a woman who would rise at dawn to wander through her neighbor’s field, picking...

THINE ENEMY By Caleb Dudley        Men talked nonchalantly around Frederick.  Simmons was currently displaying a photograph of his girlfriend back in Suffolk to an uninterested Beasley.  Richards was unleashing a torrent of curses, having clumsily...

THE PLANE RIDEBy Kay Merkel Boruff There is a place where time stands still. Raindrops hang motionless in air. Pendulums ofclocks float mid-swing. Dogs raise their muzzles in silent howls. The aromas of dates, mangoes,coriander,...

ADVICE FROM MR. WHISKERS By Wayne Hall Nonchalantly Melvin Langley pressed the green button on the over-sized remote causing the television to come to life drowning out the silence that loomed throughout the small apartment like...

LITTLE BITS FOR DINNERBy Anna Villegas My big brother’s romantic history includes a series of reasonably tolerable partners (except Marianne: anyone sporting blood red fingernails on purpose is disqualified from the get-go), women who have...

SHADOWS IN EMPTY ROOMSBy M. Cid D’Angelo             There’s Pat Methany on the radio: misty music somehow in the somber glow of the dash lights. A lonely train chugs through the tune and the trucker...