Adelaide Literary Magazine

CICADASBy Katy Major  If you live somewhere in the stretch between northeast Ohio—that’s where I am—and northwest Virginia, I don’t have to tell you: the fifth brood has emerged. You can already hear their whirr...

THE PRICE OF GINGERBy John Davidson “Have time for a story?” The driver looked over his shoulder. It was after midnight. After three in the time zone where I had gotten up. It would be busy...

STRINGS IN OUR HANDSBy Erin Conway I sat on Oscar’s front step in Guatemala, holding his daughter after her first birthday party.  After almost three years of Peace Corps working together in his elementary school...

THE BLUE-BLOODED PANTHER OF BANGALOREBy Brennen Fahy My grandfathers house sat on a foundation of thick granite stones. It had a winding staircase and many rooms filled with intricate furniture and interesting things. It was...

THE SHOW MUST GO ONBy Sally Miller In 1983, when I was ten years old I performed in the best original (very) off Broadway production our family living room had ever staged. It was a...

WE ARE THE BUFFALOBy Kaylynn Raschke “Are you sure this is it?”  The cab driver points to a thin white sign, St. Cloud. Hardly visible, as it melds into the predawn sky of this frozen...

IMPRESSIONS FROM THE LAND OF VANISHED BEAUTIFUL THINGS By Stephen Mead       "All that glitters is not gold", is a useful cautionary phrase some sources site as dating back to Aesop.  I imagine during the time of...

THE CRYING THRESHOLDBy Emma Fuhs Annie stops crying when she reads an article about how the saddest people are too sad to cry.  It’s called The Crying Threshold.Since Annie is far beyond the Crying Threshold,...

HANDBOOKBy John P. Midkiff Another day kneeling on the purple-carpeted spring floor. Cartwheel, back walkover, back handspring, round-off two. Skill after skill, every kid is different, and I spot them all, helping them position themselves,...

THE TRUTH OF BEING AS NON BEINGA Search for Truth within a Limited PerceptionBy Lauren Bush In “The Medium of Fiction”, William H. Gass suggests, “That novels should be made of words, and merely words, is shocking.”...