Instrument of Doom, Hot Honey, & A Masterpiece of a Field
Nighttime theme: edited by mik grantham
by Shane Kowalski
The instrument of our eventual doom only plays three notes. And only at night. But they are notes that can only be played by a person who has experienced a certain amount of…experience. . . .
DUCTBOY
Nighttime theme: edited by mik grantham
by Kevin Maloney
I was an unlikely candidate to save my city from the forces of evil, but my insomnia, once a minor annoyance consisting of trips to the bathroom that spilled over into two-hour Netflix binges, had broken wide open. Sleep eluded me completely. . . .
HORSE
Nighttime theme: edited by mik grantham
by Bobby Fischer
When I was thirteen I found a horse skeleton in Shark River Park. My sister pointed it out. It was late Fall edging on Winter and a bleached white set of ribs reached like slender fingers out of the mud and vines just off the main trail. She didn't say anything, just pointed. . . .
MIDNIGHT MEALTIME
Nighttime theme: edited by mik grantham
by Claudia Lundahl
I stay up all night.
“It’s the espresso,” you say, “cut it out.”
“It’s not the espresso,” I tell you, “I’m better at night. I feel closer to them.”
“Closer to who? The ghosts?”
“All of them.” . . .
Psychic Storage Unit
Nighttime theme: edited by mik grantham
by Sasha Pearl
I used to fall asleep in restaurants
Head on the banquette
Snoring like a baby pitbull
I could sleep through the clattering of plates . . .
Under Layers of Strontium and Snow
Nighttime theme: edited by mik grantham
by Julie Gard
My friend Sheila says, “We’re all lost and missing,” and it’s true. Look at where we used to be. Eating goddess bars at the coffee shop with the little strung-up lights: now there is no one. At the art gallery with the unpronounceable name and the cozy scattered rows of chairs set up for a poetry reading and the plentiful boxed wine: now there is no one, and no art. . . .
Hand Fishing
creative non-fiction
by Jack B. Bedell
My parrain loved catfish. He’d take it fried, but what really got him going was a sauce piquant. He grew up on the prairie outside of Lafayette, and every summer they’d go hand fishing along the basin. . . .
THE WIND IN OTTAWA
creative non-fiction
by Grace Jordan
“My girlfriend is having a concert. Free Wine.” It’s Charlie, she hates Mozart and I need something to do. I sit in a folding chair, set up in a chinatown storefront and zone out while she plays. “White please.” I say to the bartender, first in line. The music, over. . . .
Linda Jr. is Ready
Fiction
by Holly Wilson
My legal guardian Vickie says Hurry the fuck up. She’s twenty-four, legally blind, and calls me her Fucktard Burden. Vickie’s a mean bitch but today she’s foster motherly, all how to spot the mall detective, how to distract the cashier, how to shoplift the fanciest bra from Penney’s. . . .
MARKED
Fiction
by Lara Longo
The house phone rang at an odd hour and from the other side of the line Ann breathed my name into the receiver. They found Mary, she said, voice jumping. I braced for a torrent. They found Mary alive. She was alone. The tipster was wrong. The psychic was wrong. Mary’s hair wasn’t shorn. But she had gotten a tattoo. . . .
mother of the year
Fiction
by Erica Henry
At the sink, Veronica worries. It’s what good mothers do. Pammy complained of a headache as she licked her fork at breakfast. Veronica rubs a soapy sponge over the pancake batter bowl. Headaches can be serious. She imagines everything, trying not to think of the worst: a tumor. . . .
nursing home
Fiction
by Christopher Hadin
They come into my room and talk to me, saying things like “Hi Dad, how’s it going?” and “Janey and the kids are here too,” even though I can see them standing right in front of me. The fat one is fatter, like her mother, but I don’t say this. I don’t speak. . . .
prometheus is a christmas movie
Fiction
by Kyle Seibel
It’s a stupid thing to fight about but we’re giving it to ourselves as a gift.
We can’t keep arguing about the same thing we’ve been arguing about for the past two weeks, which is, of course, the woman who refuses to leave the standalone unit in the backyard of the house we just bought. . . .
source and scale & please nobody
Fiction
by Sean Ennis
In my study of love, I once attended a graduation. All of the students, they implied, had been blessed with a job. The guest speaker said, “In effort there is joy.” Kabul fell during the ceremony. . . .
marduk
FLASH Fiction
by Ash Kemker
George wasn’t dead, but he was supposed to have died. It’s just like, what the fuck man. You shoot yourself in the head, and you don’t even fucking die? That was so silly. He lay on the back wooden porch facing the soldier pines outside. . . .
forward motion
FLASH Fiction
by Jonson Miller
did it! gave my notice today. i leave in ONE week. such relief. can’t believe i'm actually doing it. i’m not letting ANYthing screw this up. slc here i come. later, S. [Send] . . .
Blue Line- CTA- Early Evening
HYBRID
by Brittany Ackerman
The train flies through the tunnel as it races towards Midtown. The silver car is speeding and my suitcase shakes away from me. I pull it in tight up next to the toe of my fluffy boot. The train slows and makes a stop. Irving Park. The doors open. A woman wearing a winter puff coat and a pink beanie spills onto the train. She sits down next to me and opens her phone. . . .