Home Fiction - Year III - Number 12 - April 2018

Fiction - Year III - Number 12 - April 2018

    GOOGLE MAPS by Harry Groome

    0
    GOOGLE MAPSby Harry Groom The Gardiners, along with Roger Anderson and Dorothy Vaux, had gotten hopelessly lost on their way to the party and swore that on the way...

    DEICIDAL SECOND GRADER by Juan Villagomez

    0
    DEICIDAL SECOND GRADERby Juan Fernando Villagomez I never went to church before my first week in Catholic school. The student body attended mass every Friday, and before the first...

    ON THE STAIRS by Alex Lobera

    0
    ON THE STAIRSby Alex Lobera I met him on the stairs. I had never seen him before, and never saw him again. It was unusual to meet him there,...

    MEADOWS by Whitney Judd

    0
    MEADOWSby Whitney Judd "Lenore, Sing!  Hang your head out the window! Sing! Look, here we are!""We're not there yet, Momma." The girl, still thick and slow with sleep, hung...

    CANDY IN THE VOID by Russ Bickerstaff

    0
    CANDY IN THE VOIDby Russ Bickerstaff Candy was slipping around at odd angles. It was difficult for her to find her footing in and midst all of the gravity...

    ONE, TWO, THREE, BANANA by Robert Kirkley

    0
    ONE, TWO, THREE, BANANAby Bob Kirkley On the first Saturday of May, Barry's mother signed him up for soccer camp, the two-year-old class.  She sighed.  Now came the tricky...

    BYRESH by Virginia Duke

    0
    BYRESHby Virginia Duke Byresh watched Katie scoot quartered hardboiled egg and cubes of ham to the side of her salad and squirt ranch dressing all over the top. She...

    VICISSITUDE by James Tucker

    0
    VICISSITUDEby James Tucker      “You can’t miss the giant weeping beech in the back yard”. Those are the last of the directions the landlord gave me. He was not...

    FIRST SIP by Haley Biermann

    0
    FIRST SIPby Haley Biermann Everything is more charming in Harvard Square.  The thought occurs to me as I approach the wooden framed doors of the slightly curved Starbucks on...

    A NATIVE AUSPICE by Joseph Garcia

    0
    A NATIVE AUSPICEby Joseph Garcia I can hear the teeth of the comb scrape against my scalp. I tightly clench my jaw without a sound to prove my grit...