Queen for a Day by Emily Collins I find my mother in the garage curled like a cat on top of the washing machine—something she hasn’t done since I was small and hurting and drunk off her love. I stand beside the washing machine and shake Mother gently. Her shoulder…
Read MoreTwo Flash Stories by Laton Carter This Pleasing Sting Lady Mary Wroth was having a devil of a time with Auto-Correct. In this strang labourinth how shall I turne? she cried out. But her words were deleted and revised: In this strangled labor, without shallots I return. Shallots. Had…
Read MoreMake Up Forever by Anu Kandikuppa I haven’t broken completely with my sister, but we don’t get along well with each other. Actually we can barely speak one civil word to each other. She has a way of looking me up and down when we meet that makes me want…
Read MoreFOMO By William Auten Today at ten in the morning, Mr. Snickerdoodle isn’t having much to do with the scenery and the commotion and the crew and the props passing back and forth in front of him so many times that neither his tawny eyes nor his tufted ears can…
Read MoreNo Sweeter Fat by Jess E. Jelsma I first discover I am pregnant in the grimy employee bathroom at Archibald’s Steakhouse. The room is so small that, sitting on the seat with my knees spread, I can reach out and lay my palms against all four cinder block walls. The…
Read MoreA Bad Seed by A.I. Chow Although Sarah had always gotten along with her mother, it wasn’t until her mother returned to China that they began to talk to each other like normal people. Which was to say, her mother stopped calling herself “Mommy.” It was okay in Chinese but…
Read MoreA Few Things Before Coffee by Nicholas John-Francis Claro Dear Marjorie, The world it seems has a smaller heart than I originally thought. I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds tragic and somehow a little beautiful, too. I thought I would share it with you. The line came…
Read MoreGirl Who Came Guns aBlazin’ by Kennedy Dawn Stearns Mama always said nothing made more of a ruckus than Kurt and I running down the tin steps leading up to her lone trailer with our canteens strapped to our belt loops knocking against our bodies. We were all bones then…
Read MoreMy Plastic Dreams by Mark Budman Once, in the past or future, but definitely not in the present, I worked as a transportation minister for a friendly dictator, whose name was neither Hitler, nor Stalin, nor Kim Jong-Un, but whose mustache was toothbrush, whose smile was sardonic to the point…
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