Category Archives: Fiction

Currents

by Stan Galloway

He wasn’t sure what had led him here. He knew only that he had to get away from Cape Town, from the campus, from the Aquarium, from the flat, from everything that reminded him of her: Ingrid. He had driven the old Citroen mechanically, turning on whims, and hours later sat on the rocky beach looking south where he knew Antarctica lay 7,000 kilometers away, in its safe stability of ice. A stability he coveted just now. Continue reading

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Gone

by Gail Wallace Bozzano

When the woman opened the door and slid into Kaito’s back seat, a smell crept into his cab: the smell of brine mixed with silt mixed with decay. A smell that has stayed in the back of his nostrils, in the back of his mind, since the day the wave hit Ishinomaki six months before. Continue reading

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On Safari

by Marty Carlock

The adapter plug wouldn’t fit into the socket. What did he expect, they were staying in a tent, for god’s sake. It wasn’t a bad tent, as tents go – mosquito netting over its openings, deck out front with armchairs and tables, queen-sized bed thick with pillows and comforters, ceiling fan, reading lamps, arm chairs, bathroom, showers inside and out. Yes, a shower outside set into something that looked like half a tree trunk, so you could sunbathe and look out on the savanna and watch the elephants walk by in the distance while you were washing. There were even doors built into the side of the canvas walls so you didn’t have to deal with tent flaps and other inconveniences. He guessed if they had to stay in a tent it was as good as they would get. Continue reading

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Derelict Orders

by Donald Carreira Ching

I used to count the cars like the next one would be the last one, but there’s
really no point. There’s always another one abandoned on Dump Road, on the side of the highway near the military base, or at the beach park. If I troll along Kamehameha Highway near the pier, I’ll usually find at least one just before the road curves toward the waterfront homes that look out onto the sandbar, Ahu O Laka. Continue reading

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Dick Fleming Is Lost

by Jeff Ewing

George wasn’t friends, exactly, with Dick Fleming. He knew him well enough to nod to in the halls and, later, at the meeting house. He thought Kip might remember him, might even have kept in touch, but all he said was “sort of a washout, wasn’t he?” Which bothered George more than he would have imagined. It wasn’t a fitting way for anyone to be remembered. Continue reading

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