-
To Wash and Dry a Vessel
Fiction by Lannie Stabile It started with a cheap coffee mug. Ceramic. Eleven ounces. A standard right-handed mug, though Mama always held it with her left hand, so the company logo faced inward rather than outward. Daddy insisted she use one of the eight matching stoneware pieces received for their wedding, but Mama favored the…
-
Cookie Jar People
Fiction by Jeremy Broyles Setting up the flowers was Dixie’s favorite part of her new job at the Wendell Funeral Home. Nothing could undo what disease or unlucky accident had done to those lying within open caskets or handed over to grieving loved ones as boxes of ashes that had once been bodies, but flowers—if…
-
Lexie’s Swing
Fiction by Larry D. Thacker A place can sit long enough, neglected and abandoned, with the woods creeping back to take it over, and it’ll feel like fair game. No one wants it. Go explore. The old Pierce property was just like that. By the heat of spring you could hardly see the house, but…
-
Eight Seconds
Fiction by Sabrina Hicks I saw the ghost of you riding the fence line of our old ranch, your sad eyes under a cowboy hat, lips set like a half-bent fishing line, same as when you told me you wanted to become a bronc rider in the rodeo—eight seconds with one hand wedged between hide…
-
Grammy Wants Me to Know, She Thinks She Once Knew a Lesbian
Fiction by Laurie Babcock Grammy wants me to know, she thinks she once knew a lesbian. We’re walking along the beach, the sun peeking over the horizon. Gram is wearing a sweatshirt over a turtleneck and jeans, holding her coffee in both hands to warm them up. It’s spring break and my northern blood isn’t…
-
Stallions
Fiction by John Brantingham Edna hears hooves as she is packing what she can into the large suitcase her mother gave her as a wedding present, clothes enough for her and her boy and all the cash she has in the world, which isn’t much. Tom would know what to do on a day like…
-
Baby Ben in the River
fiction by Sara Johnson Allen Celia was not her mother. She had four children instead of six. Her mother had dropped dead young as if to prove too many children raised on the stoops of South Boston could exhaust you right over the edge of your early grave. Celia was not one to brag, but…
-
The Ghost of Green Valley
Fiction by William R. Soldan When I was twelve years old, in the summer of 1975, I enjoyed a certain kind of freedom most kids didn’t. And not a day has gone by in almost half a century that I haven’t wished it had been different. Because maybe then I wouldn’t have seen what I…
-
Glitter Shit
Fiction by Gabrielle McAree After swallowing half a bottle of cough syrup, Alex asks if I want to shave my head. I shrug my shoulders in indifference so he can make the decision for me. Our mother used to say my hair was the one “pretty” thing about me. I shove a handful of cold…
-
Ruth
Fiction by Dan Crawley Her upper body bows over a pile of Scratcher games in the middle of the bed. She’s wielding a quarter on a bright red two dollar ticket. “Goddammit,” she mutters and starts to work furiously on another. I stand near the edge of the mattress. I might as well be acres…