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Hilarity Ensued
by Nick Bredie, November 2006
"The aspiring authors would end up in the cargo hold of the last tramp steamer in the world. It was actually a steamer, and after they had vomited a few times, the aspiring authors would be put to work shoveling coal to the coke ovens that power the old timey turbines. They were projecting themselves towards Lagos, but they didn't know it. Upon reaching Lagos harbor they were blindfolded and led into rail cars."
The Mystery of the Monkey's Heart
by Norman A. Rubin, November 2006
"Now at that time there was a nasty crocodile dwelling in the waters near where Kshatriya had his place of rest. Through the years, the reptile managed to avoid interferring into the peaceful life of the monkey god. They kept apart, each staying in their own territory."
The Man and the Dog
by Luis Rivas, November 2006
"He dug into his front-right pant pocket, his fingers blindly scouring for a cigarette. He retrieved it, the half-smoked cigarette, pinching it in between his index and middle finger and bringing it up to his mouth. His right hand went back into the pant pocket and found a book of matches. He stopped walking. The matchbook was thin, an alarming sign for the moment; he flicked the cover back with a finger. One match left. Shit."
Quench
by Lora Gardner, November 2006
"And once you've been in a place like this, that will probably never happen. That kind of so-called love can't make you go mad until you die, unless it's suicide, and then, then that's something else, because nobody ever stops loving as much as somebody else and so it doesn't count. But, you can have it like that and things like jealousy can come and cheating and then the madness has a chance to grow..."
"Nothing Says Party" and "Two Suitcases"
by The Name Is Dalton, October 2006
"After a week of staring into the blue light, he decided to sell the machine. He wrote letters to forgotten friends, asking if they needed a decent television set. A month passed, the postman only gave him more eviction notices and overdue utility bills."
Ode to Serling
by Linda A. Lavid, October 2006
"Mentally, she removes his glasses. Nothing is more naked than a person without their glasses. His eyebrows are bushy. That much she can tell. But are his eyes beady or a speckled hazel that changes color? Does it matter? She moves on. There's no telltale sign of any sexual organ, no slight bulge or thickness off to the side."
A Deal with the Devil
by Rob Rosen, October 2006
'"Well, to be fair, she cheated on me first," John said, in his defense.
'"Be that as it may, it's still adultery."
'"But everyone does it," he countered.
'"Which is why Hell is such a crowded place."
Sparks
by Richard Denner, October 2006
The time is spring; the place, Berkeley. The Mediterranean Café on Telegraph Avenue. A woman and a man are seated at a square, marble table. He is a dandy. She is glossily beautiful, like a 40's sex movie star. They are in a pin-spot of light. Behind them looms a mural abounding with Greek gods and goddesses. They know each other really well.
from Secession
by A. R. Lamb, September 2006
"The first day and night she slept between sips of mutton-broth. The second morning she felt well enough to sit up when Demelza and Jack came in. They brought with them a black, steel, padlocked box. They set it down beside her, handed her the key. Inside, she found a Cornish-English dictionary, a couple of phrase-books, a grammar, some original texts. They indicated that she was to immerse herself in study."
Permanent Record
by Andrew Dugas, September 2006
"Mark has cooperated all morning. He cooperated when the agents asked him to come with them. Voluntarily, of course. He cooperated when they handcuffed him and eased him into the back of their sedan. He cooperated when they made him wait in a small room full of stale cigarette smoke and an overflowing pressed tin ashtray... And when they wanted a blood sample, he cooperatively rolled up his sleeve."
I'm Here and Waiting
by Joel Van Noord, September 2006
"They've holed up here. In the hospital; they're primitive but even a fist can be deadly. They have some powerful weapons, rockets and what not and we hide behind walls. Even in the most dense urban areas there is still too much space. It's actually the worst type of environment to be engaged in. If it was all flats we'd have our tanks and play cards as we won the engagement. If it was even denser we'd slip between buildings and through windows."
Count Gregory Grubb's Game of Cards
by Norman A. Rubin, September 2006
"The count was a nefarious villain, trading in all sorts of all principles of evil to attain his fortune; a major act of gain was through the wicked rulings through the fear of witchcraft of all sorts. Count Grubb was a magistrate for the Crown during the era of the Inquisition where he reveled in the punishment of the so-called witches and sorcerers; their property were forfeited in supposed guilt and it fell into his hands."
Endemic
by J.R., September 2006
"Items are placed on sale in a supermarket. Two fat girls bring the items to the register, but the sales don't ring up. The cashier needs to call management. The items are trivial, like gum. Lines form as the girls hold up the line getting the manager. Gauge the line's reactions, their perception of the two fat girls, how quickly they become intemperate.
Duplicate for pretty girls."
The Sorrows of Aldwin
by George Sparling, July 2006
'Alice observed the guy reaming a MILF's anal highway had a smaller dick than the other man's bone stretching her pussy.
'"'A signifier that has lost its signified has thereby transformed itself in an image,'" she said. "Have you read Fredric Jameson's Postmodernism and Consumer Society?"'
I Got an Asshole Transplant and It Rejected Me
by Joe Pachinko, July 2006
"People, more people, people, and I see some another disdainful ectogirl coming down the street. My salvation? My salivating angel? Or my destructress arriving? The eyes, cross eyed, insane. The lips, a voluptuous smear of blood. Another woman downstreet walking hand in hand. But the hand she's holding onto is a severed hand, and no longer attached to a body."
Chiseling My Nose to Splice My Fate
by P. S. Ehrlich, July 2006
"He was too the hell tall and too the hell wide and too the hell tan. Travolta disco coif and Burt Reynolds moustache. Three-piece suit the color of bad salad dressing, its lapels wider than pterodactyl wings. Possibly a shirt beneath the pinched-waist jacket, but if so only to offset the gold chains and gold medallions and pelt of Gucci chest hair."
Shit Willy
by Ryan Undeen, July 2006
"Always full a' piss and hate, most of all them other folks is. Didn't ever make much sense to poor Shit Willy. He always reckoned from what he'd seen that people gets shit done the best when they tries to be friendly. It just seems that so much pissed off is floatin' in the world that a man can't take two steps without slippin' in the devil's hate fallin' into some sort of reckless rage."
Dear Dr. Rice
by Linda A. Lavid, July 2006
'"The Constitution sucks, totally anachronistic. Now the Bill of Rights, that's a document." Kinta was sitting behind a stack of files. A ragged, half-eaten sandwich was in front of her. Mayonnaise and crumbs left grease spots on one of the manila folders. She took a bite. "So how much money do you want?" she mumbled.'
Biting Auntie Gin
by spiel, June 2006
"I foam at the mouth like a rabid skunk. My jaw locks rigid. My lower denture bites my upper gum. My nose runs freely. I think my left nostril bleeds. I desperately yank Gin's angel white hair downward toward her pillow. I feel no resistance. I retch something that looks and tastes like thrice spent buttermilk..."
Eruptions
by Brent Powers, June 2006
"There's some slight, some insult. It hurts, sure, it pisses me off. Usually it means nothing to the guilty party, he's just mouthing off or venting or something, but I feel it, I bleed. Nothing to him. He just goes on. He, she ... it's not gender specific. Just goes on with their stuff, whatever it is, usually something pointless. So, some slight, some little insult, maybe even a big one said in jest, Oh surely you jest (asshole) ..."
Visualizing the Reach it Would Give Her
by Nathan Lee Smith, June 2006
'"I don't know why," her father says into the phone. "It was just some kid—" he pauses—"well, I don't know that either." He picks up the bottle and holds it up to the light as he listens. He tries to decipher what part of it struck him. "Recourse?" he says, setting the bottle back down and standing up to pace behind the couch—"there's no recourse.'
Smoldered
by Uche Peter Umez
"As the traffic eases a little, Ezillo starts his car, following the Kia in front, cautiously, not driving too closely, to avoid a dent on his Mazda. He slackens the knot of his tie, turning his neck this way and that, then mops his sweating brow with a handkerchief. He notices the smoke is still wafting up, spreading through the air; vultures circling overhead."
Murdering Rhymes
by Rob Rosen, June 2006
"Humpty Dumpty didn't fall. He was pushed; like our dead friend, Jack, down there probably was. There was a witness. Old Mother Hubbard. She was out dog bone shopping at the time. Said she saw a woman up on the wall with Mr. Dumpty. One minute they were fighting, the next, splat, egg drop soup. Not a pretty sight, from what I heard. And the sole witness had forgotten her glasses at home, so no positive I.D."
"static" and "we dream of escape, we wake up"
by John Sweet, June 2006
"February in a dying city, and nothing on the radio. You next to me saying I think I'm pregnant. You next to me, saying nothing. Telling me that the last time you saw your father, he lived in this neighborhood, and I can still smell you on my fingertips. I can still remember being in love with you."
Dottie and Viv
by Paul Kavanagh, May 2006
"Dottie lived in a small house. Viv lived in a mansion. Dottie and Viv lived happily together. Dottie sat antithesis to Viv. Viv sat antithesis to Dottie. Dottie could feel the reek of Viv. Viv could feel the reek of Dottie. Toe to toe they were. Both quaff the rill omnivorously."
The Money Carpet
by Abhijit Dasgupta, May 2006
"He did not socialise with any of his neighbours and, anyway, he was hardly home, leaving at nine in the morning and returning late at night, sometimes not at all. The neighbourhood was somewhat wary of him; old men looked at him with disdain, the middle-aged refused to acknowledge him, and those who could have been his friends had Anirban given them some hint that he was willing, gave him various names behind his back."
A Far Fetch
by P. H. Madore, May 2006
"I'd like to think it my own fault she decided I was wealthier than I am. But that would lead to certain ludicrous notions, like murder, which of course is not what happened here. How could it be? I'm no murderer, I already said that."
Origins in the Key of Sea
by Kirpal Gordon, May 2006
"Growing up against the blind-lamed-gamed-&-pained, blowing solo against automaton grind came with the territory. But one midnight in May he wandered broken boulevards above ground beguiled, seeking his Eurydice. She appeared later. Meantime, popped for lunar howling & alleged vagrancy, handcuffed to a nick nack paddy wagon, brought to the Tombs, he lay buried behind bars, metal to metal, dirgin' a blues as myna as his key & canary fate."
Sleeping with the Clan of Saints
by Tantra Bensko, April 2006
"She knew he had a good chance of getting killed, or at least beaten up. And she wanted to make sure he showed up where he was going, to apologize for losing him if he did, to exchange clothes again. To comfort him after the trials and tribulations of his trip. He was only 18, naïve, fluffy. Although, he was tough enough to live under a bridge. And really, Kundra was ready for whatever next adventure presented itself, whether she found him or not."
Red Beta
by Brian Downes, April 2006
"In spite of himself Yevgeny felt a great sympathy for the old man hit him, and a horrid rage, too. Yevgeny had become accustomed to being battered by strong emotions. He thinks we are the KGB. And why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't those monsters, those murderous whores, come for him, as well?"
Casey
by Aryan Kaganof, April 2006
"I met her on the set of a short film I was doing for the NPS for the money. The script didn't mean much to me, it was written by some vegetarian who was against violence. There was a campaign going on in Holland at the time against 'Meaningless Violence'. It was all a load of bullshit. Violence is always meaningful."
Sniff, Sniff
by Norman A. Rubin, April 2006
"Then Yarilo would have to submit to their desires, or rather, accept the swift plunging of his thick yum yum into their inviting cunnies."
I miss the days when a day never passed without someone saying numerous times--far out, man
by Marie Kazalia, April 2006
"A slimy dry wet warmth between rough he-to-her's whiskery beard and mustache as he-she pulled me up tight to his-her chest then thromped me to the hard linoleum and did me there on the kitchen floor humping oh so quickly. Afterward getting off of me to brag how next time he-she would do me up right."
"Diablo Winds," "Wild Goose Valley," and "Wicked, Wicked Moon"
by Cecelia Chapman, March 2006
"Right now the full moon is enormous outside the cafe. My wicked, wicked moon. It leers at the six, squeaky-blonde women stuffed in the blood-red leather booth. It glints off their wedding rings as they hold their hands high. It looks down their silk blouses with its buttery stare. It shines at us all so boldly I am amazed that they do not see it."
Squeal Pie
by Willie Smith, March 2006
"Bald scrawny Harry was pounding up a pig larynx. To fix his favorite dish: squeal pie. Not that he used a crust. But when he hammered the things to a pulp, they looked somewhat sickeningly like cherry pie filling. He ate them raw. Scooped right off the cutting board."
Meglomaniac
by Rob Rosen, March 2006
"We both looked fabulous in our new outfits, lost some much-needed weight, and glowed like we'd just stepped off a boat from Tahiti. People stared at us whenever we walked by. Neighbors, who'd never given us the time of day before, stopped and chatted. And most importantly, from a social standpoint, we were forever being invited to dinners and events by the muckamucks in Bill's company. We were, in short, big shots."
Precise, Literal, Unforgiving
by John Palcewski, March 2006
"Actually I didn't give a damn about how I looked, I was more worried that I would become too aware of what she looked like. But I'm a gentleman, after all, and I would never dream of alluding to the faint liver spots on the backs of her hands, or the lack of definition in her thigh muscles, or the dryness of her skin, or the rough calluses on her heels. Or her hands. Which were not as slim and elegant as those of Elizabeth, my favorite ex-wife."
"Hard Come By" and "Nail Polish"
by spiel, February 2006
"Yet now she finds herself pinned to the prison tortures. Heaps of naked masked men. Finds herself stretching to see beyond the smudged-out portions of the photos. Believes she can spot a penis here or there, counting seven nude pictures on CBS in just one story, somewhat embarrassed to be rattled by interests she's never known she had."
In Fetu
by Jen Michalski, February 2006
"We were born as one, to our parents, and placed on the single trajectory that we would call our lives. It was innocent enough, the mistake of it all, the oneness, for there was no evidence of twoness: one egg, one heart, one mind, one name. Just as we have always known that there were two, it was thus only natural to us that there were two. It could be no other way, and all the complications that came with the inconceivability of two were, for us, merely the nominal struggles of life."
Three Excerpts from Restorer of Lost Things
by Peter Magliocco, February 2006
"Perhaps that's why I came back. I can never really return to Hanoi Hilton -- it will not grace me ... But here, at the Motel, where we once came for R & R at times -- well before the Tet Offensive, & even after it -- can I not seek and perhaps achieve a rebirth of sorts? Seeing how wonderful the bustling city's become since those days!"
Windfall
by Willie Smith, February 2006
"Thorns ripped his already-ripped clothing and stabbed and frayed his skin. Wil cursed and looked down at his forearm, where the ruined sleeve of his shirt dangled. A fresh cut streaked from hand to elbow. He reached down and squeezed either side of the gash. The scaly skin went white. Dull red oozed from the new hurt. He let go of his skin."
Fidel and Me
"Two years ago I met a Jewish man in Buenos Aires bar named Samuel who told me he had sex with Adolph Eichmann's nephew. I knew it was true. Sam's parents survived the camps so Samuel could make love to the nephew of Eichmann."
My daily sin
by Clive E. Smith, December 2005
"My parents watching television and not laughing at Sidney Pointier like they usually do when other Black people come on screen. I always thought he was a white actor in blackface. He spoke different and seemed to be the only Black liked by whites, on television, other that the old cardboard-mug shot-police-composites, which flooded the news bulletins in the late seventies and early eighties."
"Spider Salad," "Promise," and "Goggles"
by Liesl Jobson, December 2005
"What ails them, asked my father. Cowpox, I said. That's not possible, he said, backwashing into his fourth beer. He leaned too close to the flame. His hair was singed, creating a bad smell that mixed with the gas from the brazing torch and odours of molten metal. It must be chicken pox, said my father. Andrew said they had already had chicken pox. You can see the scars and you can't get it twice. Probably AIDS, says my father, they've got that funny head shape."
Flight
by Gary Cummiskey, December 2005
"He was having coffee with the tall blonde one, somewhere on the Zambian border. He had met her in an Internet chatroom while she was living in Australia; she had tried to meet him in South Africa, but there had been visa and passport problems. He in turn had been unable to enter Zimbabwe, so instead they had arranged to meet here."
Honey
by Allan Kolski Horwitz, December 2005
"All the guards know him. They do not object to his visits though they have long wondered at the situation, the scenario: smartly dressed woman on third floor plays with hangdog man. They have all overheard the repeated conversations over the intercom – Umlung, dejected in the foyer, pleading to be allowed to come up - and is ignored, or told to come back another time: later in the week, at new moon, the beginning of the following month . . ."
