Hello folks, step right in here. I’ll take care of you. Are you looking for anything in particular today? Got your hearts set on a certain model, or would you like some help choosing? Continue reading Upsell off I-94 by Simon Pinkerton
Krissy swerved back into her lane and shot a futile glare at the oncoming convertible as it whizzed past. Continue reading The Dashboard Dreamcatcher by Kimmy Dee
The wizard arrived Tuesday with the new tide.
That is to say, something floated in: a medley of zigzags and straight lines, vaguely coffin-shaped. Continue reading Decrypting the Wizard By Alex S. Johnson
You came home after the gig with the treble still ringing in your head, the screams of the roaring crowd—your fans. You went right to the kitchen and opened the fridge door; the light lit up the stainless steel space like an open backstage door lighting up an alley at night. In the freezer there was a bottle of Bombay Sapphire so you took it out, uncapped it, and took a swig of the slippery juniper.
Pretty soon, you were lighting candles in your loft—shadows stark against the white walls. Then you sat down on your white suede loveseat. You lit a Gauloise with one of the candles, and while you smoked you took out your rose straight-shooter from the coffee table drawer. From your cargo shorts you pulled out a crunched ball of aluminum foil—hits that Jimmy the bassist gave you, flecks of sea salt, slightly beige on white—and you dropped a few into the brillo end of the pipe, milking it over the candle flame; then you took a pull, exhaled, and sat back to take in the coast. Continue reading The Fountain by Adam Kelly Morton
I’m the Ural owl. I haunt and possess you. If you see me in your dreams, you’re a dead human, a rotting corpse.
Many in Clowntown viewed life through a jumbo-sized pair of happy glasses.
But not Lugubro. His was the grey view. Continue reading Werebunnies Rule Clowntown! By Alex S. Johnson
I nod and hold the photo of my boy tight between thumb and index as the bag of walnuts with a red smudge of a scar on his temple ushers me into Mr Shaw’s presence. Mr Shaw rests his elbows on a cheap table, lit from behind by the vending machine. He shows a hand to the empty chair and I lift it to avoid a scrape on the carpet-free floor. Continue reading Fag End by Jason Beech
With apologies to Borges and Poe
Missy Anne Abime awoke from dreams of a miniaturized grandfather clock to find herself transformed in her bed into the self-same item. Continue reading Missy Anne Abime, Author of the Valdemar By Alex S. Johnson
It was raining the day I buried my step-father, Eddie.
I owned nothing in black, so I had to wear my work uniform: a crop top with the words ‘Slop Shop’ across the front in bright pink letters. By the end of the service I looked like the runner-up in one of our ‘Sloppy Sunday’ wet t-shirt contests. When I thanked the priest after the service, he almost had a shit-fit. Continue reading BLACK SHEETS OF RAIN By Tom Leins
Stacy held her black, stiletto heels in one hand, her new Coach clutch in the other as she weaved across the empty garage towards her beat up Subaru. The parking garage of the Ritz-Carlton was packed this evening before her cousin Jessie’s wedding reception. Now, her car stood alone among the echoing aisles. Continue reading BROTHERS by Jeff Dosser