by Paul Kavanagh, November 2011
"We killed the last bull, chopped the bull up, salted the bull, and make sure the old man has bull every day. The old man loves his roast beef. We feed him roast beef with what is left of the garden, some potatoes, some carrots, we have plenty of cabbage, but the old man refuses to eat food of Irish plebeians. We feed the old man beef in the morning, beef in the afternoon, and beef at night. Whenever the old man looks weak we sit him down at the table and spoon feed him."
Living Two Wars
by Rita Bozi, November 2011
"The 'savage Serb' was a term I learned from my parents and relatives. When I heard 'Serb' I heard the word 'saber'. My relatives had nothing good to say about the race they once overtook. As a child I believed what I heard, albeit with confusion, because I instinctively felt I wasn't getting all the information. What made the Serbs savage? Were they born that way? Or did they become that way?"
by Iman Carol Fears, November 2011
'"I feel so dead," she's saying, and a few minutes have passed with me just watching the outline of her small, curvy body through the soaked white fabric of the hospital gown. "This is what I do when I feel dead." She lifted the edge of the fabric, running her right hand up one brown thigh.'
My Sorrows and Disorders of the Psychiatric Kind
by George Sparling, November 2011
"I sought obscenity because Boyd had testified against me in court for hanging a bit too much around a Catholic church's playground. I agreed with Henry Miller who said he wanted to be obscene, not simply pornographic. Acts, not art, counted, But for practical reasons I welded, making phalluses penetrate yoni symbols from found metallic objects in Zonggone, selling to galleries. My work was not perverse but fiendish."
What You Lose When You're Weak, You Take Back When You're Strong
by Jon Alan Carroll, November 2011
"...have you ever seen somebody walking down the street and wanted to rip his/her pants off, well, now you can, but he kept telling himself: Do not talk to myself, Do not talk to myself today at all, but he couldn't help it, the Ideas overflowed his brain, they were bigger than his head, he had to obey the Crazy Laws, penalties were severe, he walked into the 1st Global Bank and got in line."
by Heidi Bell, November 2011
'As Amber, Debbie, and Gail stood at the sinks pretending to wash their hands, the intern ran from the bathroom sobbing and clutching her unfastened khakis while Jean screamed after her, "Size twelve! I knew it! You wear a twelve!"'
by Jerry Ackerman, October 2011
"The curtains over his window were pulled tight, but he was staring at them horrified anyway. Malci peeked through, but there was nothing to be seen but the usual comforting urban landscape. Buildings, terraces, metal sculptures with soft flowing curves, the smooth pedestrian causeways, the floating railroads."
An American Hero
by Amanda Fiore, October 2011
She stopped writing emails to Dennis and was sitting with her elbows on her knees, taking this man in. "Imagine," she was saying to her friend Charlene on the phone, who was sitting in Bristol right now, "a man who still acts like a man."
The Telling Kind
by Tom Bonfiglio, October 2011
'"I'll give you a ride if it's not too late. Me and the Missus have parted ways for the evening. Don't get married, kiddo. The temptation to do it will be there. You'll be sure that he's the right person. Do not give in. I'm having a beer for the road. Join me? You're not the type to tell, are you?" He ponders for a moment, scratching his head. "No, you won't tell. You aren't the telling type."'
"Honey-goo Skidoo" and "Hopscotch A Go-Go"
by Eutemia Cristina Hernandez, October 2011
'She'd taken to calling herself Betty again, just for the night, and drinking a dirty martini out of a dirty glass. Two others were in the women's parlor but they weren't much help. Doris was too busy scooting away from Rupert's (the Giant) pucker to slap the swoon out of her. Gus' vocals reassured "I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else" and his lies never sounded so good.'
Don't Feed The Cats
by Rodney Ramos, October 2011
"His psychic guide Cindy told him that he needed to be more grounded in reality. His thoughts were all too often in transcendental ethers, which wasn't good for him since his chakras were already blocked by strong interference from past lives. He was trying his best. The fifth dimension was the last place where evil could reside, she told him, and he was working hard to purge his life of all previous residue."
by John James Alexander, September 2011
"Quote: I should strangle you. I hate you. Imagine what it would take for me to put my hands around your throat and squeeze and keep squeezing as your face purples and your eyes pop out and your tongue too. Imagine what it would take for me to wring your neck till you flop in my hands, when I lift you up, still holding you by the neck, like a dead chicken."
by Sue Ann Connaughton, September 2011
"Michael came equipped with resources: a guitar and a folksy-bluesy singing voice. Others had tried street performing, but sooner or later, they sold or traded their harmonicas, guitars, and keyboards for cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, or food that wasn't scrounged from dumpsters."
by George Sparling, September 2011
'After that, Squib turned on me, nicknaming me Possum. "Every house needed a Possum," he told me. I looked up "possum" in the dictionary my uncle gave me as a high school graduation present, my name, Maxwell Wart, embossed on its leather cover. I thought one definition, "feigning ignorance," was wrong. I never could feign anything.'
by Eric Sentell, September 2011
"When John first saw Michael, his twin brother, right-side up instead of upside down, it was the most disorienting experience of his life—even more disorienting than the hazy memory of their faltering first steps. It wasn't Michael's ashen complexion, the bandage on his head, the hospital bed, IV, or beeping machines. He thought it might be lingering anesthesia, but his stomach only grew queasier as his mind cleared."
by Dawn Corrigan, September 2011
"When she has her coffee and toast Diane sits in the breakfast nook and looks out the window. She thinks about how whenever this sort of thing happens in literature, the character's first impulse is always to get home. Alice Liddell. Dorothy Gale. Marty McFly. Dr. Rick Marshall. It's like a mania with those people, getting home, getting back. Even if home wasn't all that great to begin with."
When Miriam McQuinn Came to Town
by Javy Gwaltney, September 2011
"I think I might have been surprised with myself for the outburst of pity as well. Miriam McQuinn was among the last of her kind, a monument to those sultry women of the old age, the starlets and femme fatales, the ones who survived on their glamour alone. The modern world would not take kindly to her, but she could do nothing about it—she knew no other way to live."
A Niche Market
by S. Krishnamoorthy Aithal, September 2011
"If you are an un-educated youth with an IQ of 60 or lower, we have a job for you. If you are jobless and don't expect to be able to make an honest living by your own efforts, please contact us. We have a dream job waiting for you. Please call collect immediately."
The fog in June is a coward that way
by Jeremy Hight, August 2011
She makes me shoot photos at times like this. She wants time stamped little images shuttled off to her while she waits at home whenever I am away from the office. It was cute at first, sort of charming and I assumed more playful teasing. That was 3 years ago."
by Brandon Blackburn, August 2011
"In the midst of this libidinal cocktail, I would undoubtedly spend the chilly evening surrounded-but-alone, silently watching these four joke and exchange glances, watching Ben pursue Ada, Ada comply, Stef pursue Ben, Gallagher pursue Stef. I would dredge my imagination for something witty to say, but would be outpaced by their lightning retorts and enjoinders, would be left to attempt conversation with Maggie, who was dressed as Frieda Kahlo in all-covering dress and glued-on unibrow..."
by Cathy Rosoff, August 2011
'It was one week after that the 6'4 boy—who had three inches left to go in his growth spurt—shaved his head and put on his uniform—a pair of Dr. Martens boots with white laces, a flight jacket, a Fred Perry tennis shirt and a pair of thin "braces" (suspenders)—one partly donated to the dirt-poor boy by Brigade 8814—a "group of politically conscious racialist skins committed to living their lives by the 14 words."'
Leaving for Viviers
by Tom Sheehan, August 2011
"His grandfather had told him never to leave the hole while he was away and told his sister to stay hidden in the barn, but he knew she just had to feed their last animal, a mere piglet. He remembered hearing her screaming and he cried again, as he had on many days since. The soldiers left the barn after a long while. When his sister did not come out of the barn, he crept out of the hole and went to look for her."
by Katherine V. Seger, August 2011
"I hate your poetry. I hate your significance." Her face soured over as she surveyed the page in her hand distastefully.
They sat in a café off the street, away from the windows.
He snatched the paper away. "You don't have to read it then."
"Yes I do." She cruelly twisted the paper out of his clenched fist.
POP! POP! POP!
by Kurt Eisenlohr, July 2011
"I couldn't see too well out there, except for the Honey Bucket Hooker. The Honey Bucket was right at the edge of the parking lot, up against the fence facing the lot next door, where a house was being taken apart and hauled away. But I could only sort of see her. Her big fat shape and hot pink stretch pants. Blurry red lipstick on her blurry black face. Her big eyes."
by Leah Erickson, July 2011
"He had had a front row seat, with a group of his industry friends. And at the party afterword the girl had come to him. Even though she was clean faced with her long hair down, wearing a simple blue dress, she still looked unreal. So tall and so thin. She reminded him of a racehorse. A greyhound."
Packages this Week
by David Moscovich, July 2011
"The return address was a P.O. Box in Kentucky, a sure sign it was from my ex-, Shaniqua. I know this because she left me for her stepfather, Chuck, the leader of a cult of hairy-chested, Christian Scientist YMCA members who held regular Ouija board séances for the disembodied voice of Madame Blavatsky."
by J. Slavens, July 2011
"Sure, my truck had rolled three times, and sure, I'm way snake-lucky that I didn't break my neck and buy a casket, but it's not like I killed any babies or anything like that. I hadn't gone out that night with the intent of harming innocent people. When are they going to let me out? This cube-life isn't worth the sucking in of syntho-air, let me tell you. This like totally fucking sucks. Dreams of free-walking haunt me..."
The Unfed Explosions
by Ralph Puglisi, July 2011
"At 20, she trained herself to peel fruit with her eyelashes. Using only the wisps of hair from her wrinkle-swarthy eyelids, she could peel a pear in 61 days. After accelerating her time, she moved on to grapefruits. Then, just after being able to peel a ruby-red in 57 days, her family told her she was wasting her time and energy and physics degree. I disagreed, and told her to reach for the stars."
by Melanie Browne, July 2011
"He was getting perplexed by her emails lately. They seemed to have turned that corner from fandom to stalker and yet he still wasn't overly concerned. There were times when he would check his email and be a bit worried if he didn't see her name in his inbox. He wondered where she was if she wasn't asking him what he had for breakfast, or analyzing his astrology chart."
by George Sparling, July 2011
"Don't you love these echoes? Damn, this washroom is cool. It's better than being in an armored truck, not filled with hundreds of thousands dollars, but seated inside its protection zone, whether imagined or not, sealed off from the world as Predator drones blast children and enemies to kingdom come. I gotta use Christian terminology, I'm the nostalgic type..."
"The Son," "In the Dutiful Republic," and "The Miracles Occur"
by Terence Kuch, May 2011
"I looked out the kitchen window and thought I saw a stranger talking to Hans. It was my turn to babysit, though Hans was seven and 'baby' seemed not quite right. I went out to the porch. There was Hans, no other stranger in sight. Hans didn't laugh as much, after that, as he had before. His eyes seemed to focus somewhere behind my head when I spoke to him."
Joy(ce) to the World
by Thomas Sullivan, May 2011
"Two stuffed animals confront me when I walk into the grubby lobby of the Penske truck rental shop. One is a teddy bear, dressed in camouflage and clutching a tiny foam weapon. The second is a rat-type animal wearing a ninja costume and holding a club with a jagged ball hanging from its end. The animals stand at perfect attention and stare upward, challenging me to question the reading material displayed on the glass-covered counter."
by Susan Smith Nash, May 2011
"Tinguely, watching them, fell into a reverie. Then blinked. The cattle. Were they moving? Were they retreating? Tinguely could swear they were shuffling slowly, softly—backwards."
by Michael Wolman, May 2011
"How do I know this? Well, I have first-hand evidence, if you catch my drift... my drift being that I have personally fucked each of them. I'm not bragging; I'm simply stating a fact, like they do on FOX News."
by Tom Bonfiglio, May 2011
"No herpes I've ever seen. Nothing I'm familiar with. She climbs up to her feet and fumbles in her purse and pulls out a silver box and wrestles with opening it and finally manages to get a cigarette out and lit. She leans down and takes one last look and says, So what's the big deal? This is what you call me in a panic over? For this you call me? Pshaw. A rash."
Super Bowl Chicken Wings
by Leo Lichy, April 2011
'"During our struggle on the sofa, the act of holding her head against a pillow while she kicked and writhed, meant that her makeup was completely wiped away. Let me tell you, she was no oil painting. I swiftly deduced, when I pinned her to the couch, that the back of her looked far more appealing than the front. Up close, face up, she came across as an frightful hag."'
by Kawika Guillermo, April 2011
"She winced when she heard the noise. It took her a few moments before she realized that she could come out from beneath the pipes. From the look of the corpse she thought that the man was most certainly dead and was unsure of what to do with the lifeless body. She did not know how to check if someone was hurt or breathing, so she just kind of sat there watching."
The People's Politician
by Martin Friel, April 2011
"A week last Tuesday, the PM, his chancellor and the leaders of the opposition, that is of all the other political parties, were hung in Trafalgar Square. The crowd was big, bigger than at New Year. People hanging off the pillars of the National Gallery; on the roofs of the surrounding buildings; standing, climbing on to anything they could to get a decent look."
Proud to Be a Pig
by Bob Ritchie, April 2011
'Blood slicked my belly and spattered the hall carpet as I ran toward the kitchen. No biggie, I knew that rust-color would come in handy one day. The linoleum chilled my bare feet. I had run out of my slippers, in my haste. On the refrigerator, I found a tiny suction cup. From its bent metal hook dangled a gaily-patterned potholder. I read the word "Hormel" on the plastic deelie.'
Manhattan Love Story #3, Manhattan Love Story #1, and Manhattan Love Story #3: Marry Me
by Kyle Hemmings, April 2011
"We live for the night, Zin and I. Glitter queens, mothball girls with no back wings, neon cursed sex slaves, cherry boys with Ferris wheels in their eyes. The day will only break our backs."