fiction
Seeds of Pomegranate
Usually Rafael was called Rafa, but Hope shortened it further to Raf. Some of the other men who worked at the hotel would tease him when they heard this, but Rafael never mentioned it to her. He met her briefly while she worked the day shift during the summer time, when the sun would bleed through the windows and warm her pale face while she stood behind the front desk.
Death of the Author
You’re alone. You’re alone in a house in the woods. You’ve been running for some time.
Pentecost
By Brian Sutton
Dear Sir: As requested, I shall begin by providing background information about myself. My name is Vernon Lantry. I am fifty-one years of age.
Quentin Compson Time
I took the truck down the rough, narrow trail, rounding the final rutted bend out of the woods and onto the rocky beach surrounding the lake.
Goat in the Machine
By Jeff Blechle
This morning Yeorgi woke up in his backyard feeling a bruise on his lower back, convinced that stacked chairs and vodka were not his friends, nor was his wife, if he was being honest, or his goat Omar, whose pretense of loyalty clashed with Yeorgi’s trusting nature—and poor little Boots lying dead with light bulb fragments decorating her scant cleavage, well, she was no great pal either, always shoving him into hazardous, life-threatening tasks, always trying to get out of paying him, criticizing.
Amma's Achaar
He dug and dug and dug. Under the scorching summer sun, Balram toiled endlessly.
Missing Letter to Albrecht
By Anya Reeve
The smoke tasted on my tongue that morning, mingled with fresh bite of air. Once on my tongue, the sapidity of ashing wood exhaled from my breath and nostrils. Clear, oh so clear.
Your Destination
By Peter Rustin
Thirty minutes ago: the calm droning of the red-eye from JFK to Los Angeles. The cabin lights dimmed. Two teenage sisters sleeping, in pastel sweatshirts, heads nestled, sharing a pair of earbuds linked to an iPhone.
Netherworld
By J. A. Hersh
They were driving straight down a dark road, their little green car bumping on the potholes. It wasn’t a long drive back to their apartment. Fifteen minutes or so.
UNITE?
“Jane, the taste the taste, you have no idea, Jane.” Typing texting toiling tighter to a tik-tok than ever paid to do in an office.