Bog Bodies
J.L. Thurston, Fiction Jenni Thurston J.L. Thurston, Fiction Jenni Thurston

Bog Bodies

In ancient times, people were sacrificed to the bog. Now, the souls trapped within bog demand more sacrifices. And if they don’t get them, they will rise, and they will find souls themselves.

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Boner
Don Hall, Fiction Don Hall Don Hall, Fiction Don Hall

Boner

When the pandemic hit, the world crashed. Lockdowns, quarantines, masks. Stay-at-home orders. It was nuts. It affected everyone's business, their mental health, and, most important, Ted's dick.

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The Ballerino 
Paul Teodo, Tom Myers, Fiction Paul Teodo Paul Teodo, Tom Myers, Fiction Paul Teodo

The Ballerino 

“Change the goddamn ballet recital just for you?” Her voice rose. She thrust her hip sideways and firmly planted a hand on it. “Johnny, that’s how you operate! Change it for me.” Melinda turned and walked out of the room. “Jesus Christ.” The door slammed behind her.

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Innocence Ends in Avondale - A Chicago Story
Fiction Guest User Fiction Guest User

Innocence Ends in Avondale - A Chicago Story

That’s it. That word, it pulls up like a tub stopper in her, letting all the old dirty waters drain out. It upsets her deep in her gut where she buries her heart. The Elston house feels disgusting, suddenly, as if she’s been swallowed by a beast. Doomed to dwell in a place where “utopia” is the exact furthest thing from reality.

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  The Clincher
Fiction, Paul Teodo, Tom Myers Paul Teodo Fiction, Paul Teodo, Tom Myers Paul Teodo

  The Clincher

At first the team was just a bunch of burnt-out baseball guys looking for a reason to get out of the house. Then it got serious. The trophies, the fights, the bets. Sixteen-inch no-mitt softball became an obsession. Nothing got in the way. That’s how it went when guys had too much of what they didn’t want in life.

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Fair is Fair
Don Hall, Fiction Don Hall Don Hall, Fiction Don Hall

Fair is Fair

"Father?"

The old man sitting on the bench was eating pistachio nuts and carefully placing the shells in a ball cap to his left. He looked Jack's way.

"Ah! Jack. Not any more. Not in long time."

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The First Call
Fiction, Wayne Lerner Wayne Lerner Fiction, Wayne Lerner Wayne Lerner

The First Call

The ringing of the phone reverberated throughout the office. You can tell who’s calling by the ring, whether it’s a good call or one which foretells disaster. The phone knows. Its voice sends you a message. You have to be smart enough, open enough, to understand its language.

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Carpe
Don Hall, Fiction Don Hall Don Hall, Fiction Don Hall

Carpe

His dad used to tell him (when the man was sober) that life gave you three choices: fail and wallow in it, coast and be unfulfilled, or swing for the fences and maybe—MAYBE—do something notable.

Dad seemed to be OK with the first.

Swing for the fences. Seize the day.

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Smooth
Paul Teodo, Tom Myers, Fiction Don Hall Paul Teodo, Tom Myers, Fiction Don Hall

Smooth

Eddie played short. He had what the scouts called the quick twitch. It made him a natural. He could pick anything behind the bag, go deep in the hole, jump turn and throw mid-air to first, in a freakin’ blur. On a pop fly, he’d go out hard, back to the infield, make the grab over the shoulder–no problem.

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The Donation
Wayne Lerner, Fiction Wayne Lerner Wayne Lerner, Fiction Wayne Lerner

The Donation

“Thank you, sir,” Dr. Carton replied. “No one likes to be held hostage, but the size of your donation and the good it will do for the University, faculty and students is just too overwhelming.”

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Night Out, 2025
Poetry, Fiction Guest User Poetry, Fiction Guest User

Night Out, 2025

Is it Friday? A day hazing over fast into the good long while of night. Both are so happy to have had themselves. To have been connected.

This was an age after the rooftop days were over. Removed and exposed from the vantage of twenty-or-more stories.

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Sixty Bucks a Week
Paul Teodo, Tom Myers, Fiction Paul Teodo Paul Teodo, Tom Myers, Fiction Paul Teodo

Sixty Bucks a Week

The phone on the wall rang. The long, knotted cord dragged on the floor as she listened carefully to the distant voice. He had collapsed. She stared out the window where he’d usually park, the space empty. It was 95°, but it wasn’t the heat. Not a heart attack, a stroke, or a seizure.

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Hell in a Handbasket
David Himmel, Fiction David Himmel David Himmel, Fiction David Himmel

Hell in a Handbasket

Before she was Jane Hadley, the rock ’n’ roll singer/songwriter—the Goddess of Rock, bigger than Taylor, Adele, and Beyoncé combined, she was Jane Hadley, the folk ’n’ roll singer/songwriter who never sold more than a thousand albums and a few hundred t-shirts. Before she had a #1 album flying off the shelves and being downloaded to the Cloud by millions, and an entire merchandising department, she was just a girl who played in a few bands: the Stargazers, Rosie’s Dream Catcher, Jane and the Jaded Cowboys.

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He Served
Paul Teodo, Tom Myers, Fiction Paul Teodo Paul Teodo, Tom Myers, Fiction Paul Teodo

He Served

The guy had a silver chain that dangled from his left front pocket to his right, perfectly outlining his brief-less testicles. He looked at The Buff, smiled, and yanked out a pocket watch the size of a hockey puck from his faded Levis and said, “ten… p.m., fat boy.” His droopy white walrus mustache did a lousy job of concealing his shit-eating grin.

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Three Graces At Beggar's Monument
Fiction Guest User Fiction Guest User

Three Graces At Beggar's Monument

A cigarette appeared in Cy’s mouth like a jump cut.

“I’m like Peter Pan and ya’ll are my misfit toys.” He scratched his gut over the smoothed down 4x t-shirt.

“The lost boys.” Jetta corrected him thru her own cigarette. “This is what we do when we come back from running away.”

She sat and bolted one from the freshly opened bottle.

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