Our Heroes are Socialists
Bill Arnett, Fiction William Arnett Bill Arnett, Fiction William Arnett

Our Heroes are Socialists

“In this nation, athletes are heroes. In bedrooms all across America, boys and girls have posters on their walls of Tom Brady, Lebron James and Tina Charles. All of them card-carrying socialist union members. Imagine that, Americans of every stripe cheering on socialists in bars across the country. If they only knew...

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Tuesday
Fiction Guest User Fiction Guest User

Tuesday

Trash day. Last night's rain warped everything. Grass. Lawn chairs. I never know how it does.

Little pieces of tree and leaves are coming down out of the tops and spreading everywhere. Tiny dried up late-springtime bits covering the ground. Clods of them tearing by on this windy mid-morning when all else is quiet.

My sister saw the house with the eviction notice as we went through the old neighborhood. I remembered two kids, a dog, a trampoline, while we looked toward the empty open mailbox. Rain soaked tongue of its door lolling like an unwanted dog. If a house could be a loveless dog preparing to die.

Everything is wet.

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Natural Causes — Part III
Fiction, Paul Teodo Paul Teodo Fiction, Paul Teodo Paul Teodo

Natural Causes — Part III

The visitor’s eyebrows arched at the sound of his name and he entered the room. He took Mary’s hand from C, then turned his head upwards exhaling blue smoke to the ceiling. And with great fanfare Massimo kissed her hand, precisely on the wedding ring she still wore. 

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When The Sandman Slumbers
J.L. Thurston, Fiction Jenni Thurston J.L. Thurston, Fiction Jenni Thurston

When The Sandman Slumbers

The world has turned. People now have the option to avoid sleep indefinitely. A simple pill puts part of the brain in a sleep-like state while the conscious mind continues. People spend more time enjoying life, being with family, working more. On average, most only sleep once or twice a week. The manufacturers of the Awaquen pill are formulating a pediatric version of this for children over two. This will introduce night schools and better education opportunities. The world is now much more productive and fast-paced. It is a better world for everyone.

            Except the Sandman.

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Elf in the Crossfire: Santa Ain't a Paramedic
Fiction Guest User Fiction Guest User

Elf in the Crossfire: Santa Ain't a Paramedic

As I'm parked, people are slowing for the light and staring me down in the outfit, which is essentially a bright red slutty elf costume. For tis' the season for idiots to spend money on a fancy bike cab ride since sleighs are pretty hard to come by around here.

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A Death in the Dining Room
David Himmel, Fiction David Himmel David Himmel, Fiction David Himmel

A Death in the Dining Room

A man wearing a Santa Claus suit lay in the road. His body was mangled. The blood pool was still growing under and around him. His arm was tucked underneath his back and his face looked like it had been smashed in with a waffle iron. Or a Toyota Corolla.

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Small World
Fiction Guest User Fiction Guest User

Small World

The sand almost burned the spaces in between my toes, but felt delicious. Little stubs of thick and thin palm shoots would poke up into your feet if you didn't walk carefully.

When the plateau melted the blue water came into view. Sure enough there it was- three figures on a mid-sized daysailer. No chop, but close, and the broadsheet was full. Two orange stripes and the number D-850 standing out near its apex.

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I am Matisse
Fiction, Roberta Miles Roberta Miles Fiction, Roberta Miles Roberta Miles

I am Matisse

I am Matisse, and this is a kid’s story, because I am a kid. I am nine years old and very responsible for my age. The other Matisse, at least the only other one I know, was a great painter, the father of abstraction. I have decided to be empress of the universe. I’m what adults call precocious.  

My Grandma-ma always speaks to me as if I’m the smartest person she ever met. My mom still thinks of me as only nine and my dad, well he just smiles at me all the time. Actually he beams. He doesn’t say much of anything.

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In The Northern Liberated Provinces of Korea
Fiction Guest User Fiction Guest User

In The Northern Liberated Provinces of Korea

Wu Ran-sang heard himself sigh. In this sigh, there were many feelings.

His heart and body hung between the sky and the dun ground along the northwest wall of the tallest building in Onsong. Nine stories. A recovered textile factory in the process of retrofit.

Ran-sang, an electrician of a singular talent, looked out at the view which the height afforded him. A warm mid-spring sun hung in a wide open sky of astonishing blue. The diamond pearls of the Tumen River glistened in their long band not too far off. This was now the Sapphire Coast and Onsong was in preparation to be a modest city of great culture and assimilation.

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Hagatha the Dog Witch
Fiction, David Himmel David Himmel Fiction, David Himmel David Himmel

Hagatha the Dog Witch

Hagatha, upon arriving in Chicago, had developed an allergy to cats. She tried Zyrtec, Claritin and Allegra, and all the potions and spells in her Witch Craft: Curses & Remedies book. Nothing helped. Her eyes watered, which made her face melt a little. Her nose ran constantly, and witch snot is essentially acid so she kept burning through her handkerchiefs and shirt sleeves. The only solution was to put her beloved cat, Gomez, whom she had had since she conjured him to life two centuries ago, up for adoption.

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