Fiction

By Fred Johnson 1. What a day: went as usual to Mr Kebab Express. Ordered pizza—twelve-inch special, no olives, can of Irn Bru. Was waiting

By Luke Beling, We fell out of love in a hurry that night. Suzy flipped over my dirty ashtray and tossed my empty can at

By  Alan MacLeod My Aunt Ruth piles family photos in boxes, and calls it our ancestry. Those faded images of people and places transport me

By Patricia Crisafulli A profusion of tiger lilies blossomed where the gravel driveway met the pitted blacktop of the country road. Pulling in slowly, Gabriela

By Kevin Broccoli She got sent out with a basket of pecan bread and a bad cough. The flu had whipped through and nearly killed

By David Bassano, July 16 “The speed limit is fifty-five…and do not throw cigarettes out the window!” the trooper snapped. “Yes, Officer,” mumbled Nick. He’d

By Brian Mosher, When I first arrived in town in 1955, The Golden Albatross was run by Cassini, a fat Chinese man. No one was

By Mark Gallini, “Get up! Get up you lazy one,” her mother sings, or rather recites. “It’s time to go to Grandma’s.” She leans over

By Scott Pieschel, “Excited for your blooding tomorrow?” Shadows from the weakening flames in the hearth danced across my older brother, Tommy’s, face. He sat