Fiction: “Good Taste” by Dana Schwartz

In the bedroom of a small apartment outside Kielce in Poland, a man named Gustaw Smolak had a heart attack just as his wife left to get groceries in their olive green Camaro.  The Smolak family lived on the second floor of a building that had been redecorated so many times by its tenants over …

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Fiction: “Into the Horizon” by Kacy Cunningham

Gam never cuddled or cooed.  She didn’t linger or inquire or speak of love.  She had suffered the loss of her husband over two decades ago and, though they hadn’t laughed often, when they did, it was deep and hearty.  Gam smothered bread with butter and piled ham high between the white, buttery slices, serving …

Fiction: “I Dreamed I Saw Joe Hill Last Night” by S. Frederic Liss

April awoke to the hemming and hawing of an electric tooth brush whose battery was running low. The sound reminded her of the spinning top her daddy had given her for her third birthday, a top with airplanes which took off and landed as it jiggled along the pitted linoleum floor of their double wide. It had been …

Fiction: “Dumbo Feather” by Nate Liederbach

Abysmal visions I’ve had since Kyoko started waiting tables at Eggs & Oysters. Believe me, I’m happy she’s got gainful employment, a distraction, stoked she’s found release in the twelve-mile round-trip, but still I’m terrified. I’ve made certain she’s covered in lights, reflectors, safety tape on her helmet, got her phone ringer cranked—all this even …

Fiction: “The Revolution” by Ling E. Teo

Tired of the male machismo and sexist attitudes, Ms Delacruz dresses differently. Today, Ms Delacruz wears a cowboy outfit, complete with bolo tie, a departure from her peach-colored dresses with floral prints. She stands up in front of us – one hundred and thirty middle school teachers – as the female Assistant Principal’s indispensable school …

Fiction: “Good Neighbors” by Kristen Hamelin Tracey

Over breakfast, Jillian refused to go to the funeral. “It will be boring,” she said. Her brown hair was messily escaping from yesterday’s ponytail and dipped into her cereal. Colette allowed herself to be distracted long enough to minister to the errant hair with a bobby pin, grabbed from a basket of trinkets she kept …

Fiction: “These Are the Eyes of Norah Jones” by Phillip Gardner

Adam’s Rib was located near the office where we spent our days cursing the stock market and counting down the hours, where Robert, Peter, Wess and I no longer sold high-end real estate. Wess referred to the bar simply as “The Chain” although to my knowledge it belonged to no franchise. “Nooo,” Robert said—this was …