After they took the body of my friend away, I lost my ability to move. They'd left the twisted sheet he hung himself with, still tied to the curtain rod. The noose taunted me, its wide mouth ready to claim another black body.
Everyone’s heads turned as Opal Shane made her way down the auditorium’s aisle.
Today, she was dressed in high-waisted denim shorts, a red-and-black plaid shirt, stacks and stacks of long silver necklaces, and a sheer white cardigan. White chucks and black shades topped it off.
It didn’t make sense, yet it looked good.
On a bitter January morning, exactly two months and a day after he arrived in the city, a young actor from Broken Bow, Oklahoma (just a good ol’ boy made good, he would eventually claim in interviews, to the delight of the press) woke up in a fourth-floor studio walk up at the edge of Harlem and Washington Heights. A calico cat, purring like a tiny engine, nuzzled against his chest.
On his way to Calvary, Jesus stopped for a smoke.
The Roman guard said it was okay for a break and helped lay
down the cross. The guard took off his helmet, wiped the sweat
away, told the crowd to take fifteen and then watched as Jesus
pulled a smushed pack of unfiltered Camels from the pocket of
his bloody robe.
FLASH FICTIONThe AliensLynn Mundell
What happens when we only see the stereotype. In "The Aliens," a flash fiction piece by Lynn Mundell, maybe aliens are among us bathed in stereotypes.
The army sergeant was disgusted by the breastfeeding mother at Target, who thought that all people in camo were scary, as were the two nearby Goths with the black makeup, who were freaked out by the staring missionaries, who were most shocked by the tattooed cashier...
FLASH FICTIONExistential GlassSue Babcock
"Courage is elusive. Dreams shatter and crumble. Can we win this struggle, this war? Hate storms around us, a gale of emotions that we slowly, ever so slowly, know we must control."
SHORT STORYAfter DeathNashae Jones
"After Death" by Nashae Jones is a short story about what connects us to each other, our mothers.
“Who are you?” she had asked. “Where do you come from?”
“ I a woman,” Qui, the woman from Vietnam had told her.
“Good, good. You are a woman,” Quinn had said.
Encouraged, Qui continued.
“I mother. I have son.”
Quinn had faltered, her eyelashes blinking rapidly against her powdered cheeks.
SHORT STORYMarketplace ChildrenJessica Santillan
"Marketplace Children" is the story about of farmhand Jovita who deals with the reality of her place in the world. Jessica Santillan's haunting short story debut.
The thing about laboring all day in the sun, she thinks, is you can either focus on the misery of the task, or on the misery of your life. Sweat drips and collates in the creases on her face. She is machine, without the luxury of being machine. Ay, she thinks, even machines get to break down sometimes.
SHORT STORYSoup & Nail Polish Jennifer Todhunter
Jennifer Todhunter's short story "Soup & Nail Polish" is a story of friendship built on music and nail polish, and what happens when past traumas come back to haunt.
I’d bring home random scraps of the city for Harry—rare finds from used book stores, shades of nail polish we both could wear, ballpoint pens liberated from businesses—and make him pizza and soup because he wasn’t interested in eating anything else. He didn’t want to talk about what was going on, and the more I pressed, the more withdrawn he became.
SHORT STORYBeer MileSarah SzaboWriter of the Month
"Beer Mile" combines exercise, competition and beer. What could possibly go wrong? Find out in this short story by our Writer of the Month, Sarah Szabo.
So they began the regimen, cramming what they could into two long, grueling months of prep. The goal was learning how to run plowed, keeping the booze down. He’d had years of practice running, good form, and the genetics of a true rake in him. All there was to do was get used to the feeling of running a full sprint while a liter and a half of cold beer wreaked havoc in his gut—to make it as close to second nature as they could.