Category Archives: Fiction

by hipacificreview | 05/01/2014 · 10:12 am

Running Back

By Jeremy Griffin

I was with Nosh, cruising around town in the clunky brown pickup his older brother Chad had been forced to give up after his second DUI. The case of Pabst we’d bought off a couple of frat guys was in the middle of the floorboard, already half-empty. This was in early September, a Friday, close to midnight, and my guess was that right about then most of our graduating class was heading out to keg parties and sorority mixers at whichever schools they’d left town to attend. But not me and Nosh. A year earlier we’d been promising athletes, part of the Nix High Gators’ starting line, him a linebacker, me a running back, but now we were just another couple of washouts, prowling the quiet streets of Nix, Louisiana, like a pair of penned-up animals sniffing around for a way out. Continue reading →

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by hipacificreview | 04/24/2014 · 7:32 am

Pittsburgh

By B.P. Greenbaum

August 17, 1962

Pittsburgh melted. Carolyn Martin became convinced that, just like a pat of butter in a hot pan, it would soon slide right into Ohio. The heat wave showed no signs of abating, and all the girls at Cane Street House were glazed by it. Breakfast felt atypically quiet; their faces glistened at the table that morning, so many bellies like watermelons. But it was a traditional Friday, fish day, and the day of departure. Empty, Carolyn and Angeline would be leaving.

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Tidal Wave

By Lee Patton

Frank rowed toward the dock his father used, tucked into a wooded river bend behind the town harbor. It was way past six, but the dock was deserted. Where was his dad?

The seagulls kept acting strange. A whole flock had just followed his rowboat against the incoming tide, wailing. When he passed the mooring basin’s log posts, every single gull landed atop each one, like a formation, going dead quiet.

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by hipacificreview | 04/10/2014 · 11:11 am

Beneath a Country Sky

By Angela Nishimoto

Chiyo, standing under the large banyan tree, flung her hands about her face, trying to keep the mosquitoes from alighting. Henry stood at a distance and gazed off down the unpaved road. He became aware of his wife’s irritation, so he turned and made his way back to her. She looked up at the threat of rain. Whether passing mauka showers or downpour, rain was always possible here on the windward side of O`ahu. He reached her just as she swatted a whining little beast, leaving a sooty smudge of mosquito remains centered on her forehead.

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No One Is Looking

by Thomas Christopher

My friend Eddie’s sister, Shannon, was seventeen. She was eight years older than we were. Even though she was hardly around, I always felt her presence whenever I was at his house. Sometimes her door was open and I stole a glimpse of her rumpled bed or some scattered clothes on the floor. But even if her door was closed, simply being near it thrilled me in a way I couldn’t describe.

One day when Eddie was showing me his new football cards, Shannon appeared in his doorway. She was wrapped in a red bath towel. Her honey-blonde hair was wet and her skin flushed pink. For some reason the sight of her bare feet sprinkled with water was exciting. She smiled, leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, and said, “What are you boys up to?” Continue reading →