by Masha Kisel
On Monday, I ate three Taco Bell Crunch Wraps, two bean burritos, one Fiesta Burrito and an order of Nachos Bellgrande. Washed it down with a large Coke. I practice in the mirror first. Tom always asks if my stomach hurts after, but it never does. Eating in front of the camera is like not eating at all. You’re a second person, a second stomach, a non-corporeal being, stuffing a hologram mouth for ED teens, bored housewives, and perverts. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Asa Merritt
In the moments before she bit him, Belle was running faster than I’d ever seen her run. A black mass zooming across the immense sunset, towards the pear tree, towards my nephew underneath the pear tree, who even then was about to throw another pear. Pelt her, another time, even though she’d snapped her massive jaws in his face only hours before. I saw it happen, walked from the screen porch to the yard, lit a cigarette, and told him not to treat her like that. This time, when the pear struck her face as she ran, she didn’t snap her jaws, she opened them and kept them open. I screamed at Belle as I ran from the porch and the door slammed behind me, then it slammed again, and his mother was beside me, and we ran. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by William Hawkins
We’re on our way to Disney World when an angel flies out from a ditch. It never stood a chance. The windshield rattles but doesn’t crack. You can hardly see the road for its wings. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Josephina Hu
“A girl,” I read aloud, “found herself in a strange room, where the ceiling was sky and the walls open air. In the center of the room stood a lone mountain, and its solemn shadow obstructed all to her left. On the right was a forest of flowering trees, and among them, in the distance, an apparition. The girl decided to venture into the forest.” Continue reading
by Bethany Bruno
The first thing my mother left me was a jar. Wide-mouthed, Mason glass, cloudy at the rim. She pressed it into my hands the morning she stopped speaking. Her lips moved like pale paper fluttering in the wind.
“Keep it closed,” she mouthed. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 