FIFTIES SCOOP by John Tavares
FIFTIES SCOOPby John Tavares
There are many gaps and holes in the story, but my origins in as few words as possible must necessarily leave some sense of vagueness and incompleteness. Besides, big parts of...
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THE THREE QUESTIONS OF LOVE by Jeff Hardin
THE THREE QUESTIONS OF LOVE
By Jeff Hardin
In the days of siren and cyclops, a man with tightened brows hung his head in frustration. He had a dilemma. For the past two years, he had...
DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE by Jeannine Cook
DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDEby Jeannine A. Cook
She was used to the flinching. The fiddling. The mess. The begging. The crying. The blood. These women with their thick thighs and thin thighs and saggy thighs...
CAUTION: SLIPPERY WHEN WET by Ivanka Fear
CAUTION: SLIPPERY WHEN WETby Ivanka Fear
"It was an accident waiting to happen," Ivy Rose explained to Detective Reed. “There were just way too many people looking for the perfect spot. And then there was...
A MILLION MARIAS by Gene Goldfarb
A MILLION MARIASby Gene Goldfarb
Jack lived on a busy tongue of land that pointed out on the Atlantic Ocean east to a European continent. His home turf was filled with people and entities hungry...
THE STORY OF THE OLD MAN ON THE BENCH IN THE PARK
THE STORY OF THE OLD MAN ON THE BENCH IN THE PARKby Harvey James
I've gotta start from the beginning and so I say to him, I’ve gotta explain my dad. Well a few months...
THE PACKAGE by Christopher Carroll
THE PACKAGEBy Christopher Carroll
On this dark and dreary Tuesday, Tom returned home from his trip. Tom walks up the stairs to his apartment door when he realizes that there is a weird looking package...
WINTER PEOPLE by Barbara Borst
WINTER PEOPLEBy Barbara Borst
Maria slumped onto the brown plaid sofa in her friend’s combination living room, dining area and kitchen. She was tired. Not from bathing and dressing Janet and changing her sheets and...
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SINKHOLE by Asa Noriega
SINKHOLEby Asa Noriega
After the divorce, Claudia Frank bought one of those overstuffed couches where the pillows sink together like alternate directions of a life converging. In the mornings, she’d crumple into the cushions and...
THURSDAY MORNING by Taylor Morrison
THURSDAY MORNINGTaylor Morrison
I knew something wasn't right the moment I walked into Mrs. Knickerbocker's class on Thursday morning. We called her Mrs. N. because of the silent K in her name. She felt it...