The bottle of Jameson shattered into fine green needles and sprayed across the Connellys’ white kitchen floor. Conversations went so quiet that Thomas’s whispered “shit” could be heard across the room. […]Read More Prose: “Deidre” by Heather Rutherford
Owen stood in the boxing ring in the back of Bichelmayer’s Meat Market, using the edge of a turnbuckle to press the swollen flesh away from his eye. Breath came ragged through his teeth and exhalation whistled through a crack in his nose. His hearing, gone, blasted by the cacophony of the crowd. […]Read More Prose: “Welterweight” by Nick Avalos
Oh no. Oh no.
How did she forget about this?
Yes, the Cape Cod Bryerson Family Reunion Weekend always sneaks up on you like a cardigan-wearing endangered leopard, but this time, when it’s really important, she forgets? […]
In the moments before he fell asleep with his foot on the gas, driving a tractor-trailer with no trailer, sometime in late July, 2001, and thirty-four miles from his exit on the I-98, Dea came to think about a time just after his infancy, when he’d visited his great aunt’s farm. […]Read More Prose: “It’s later than you think” By June Villers
Ten last photos and the distance. He wore frayed khakis and a knit tie, the least formality for his work which he was sure he remembered. He must have had a coat but he found himself in inappropriate sandals, or worse, barefoot. He could only recognize himself from recollection, or maybe in the reflection of […]Read More Prose: “Ten Last Photos and the distance.” by Kevin Danko
1. A Person of Destiny Mr. Tsutomo Yamaguchi had almost reached the downtown train station when he realized he might have forgotten his travel pass. As he walked, he checked each of his suit pockets, but he already suspected, with a sinking feeling, that he’d left it at the office they had last visited. Without […]Read More Prose: “What is Wisdom?” by Frank Richards
Evening light ripped pink through the sky as Aisha ran up the hill with paint-splotched high tops that didn’t change from season to season. She made her way up the hill to the house overlooking the lake, half-expecting the blue tones of the house to fade, half-expecting the hill to be empty, like the old house withered […]Read More Prose: “The Box Left Behind” By Reema Saleh
Alma sleeping beside him, he stared at the ceiling. These days the house was too quiet. Sorrow sat on his chest. Tears flowed from his eyes, soundless as the empty room across the hall. Like going away, to stay, you know, for good… Always daring, all his life he’d taken chances, faced down bullies and […]Read More Prose: “The Grief Response” by Paul García
I’m not the tell-me-your-troubles kind of bartender. I keep to myself. Stand-offish was how one drunk guy put it once — the bar held him up as he slurred through some sob-story about his wife or girlfriend or money — but I don’t know about all that. I just do my job, act as gatekeeper […]Read More Prose: “Practice” by Matthew Fiander
We called her Tin, and she had been old all our lives. She was already in her late sixties when my mother and her brothers were kids and christened her “Tin,” abbreviating her name––as young children are wont to do––from “Tante Lillian” to “Ta-lin” to “Tin.” The nickname stuck. Now, at age ninety-eight, Tin was […]Read More Prose: “Tin’s Grand Entrance” by Alan Gartenhaus