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
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 Alice Kinerk
Chase was standing by the whiteboard in his fourth-grade classroom, banging his math book against the tray at the bottom, where his teacher kept Expo markers. He’d discovered if he wailed hard enough, if he spread his stance and put the textbook above his head and brought it straight down again, like his gramps used to do with an ax, he could make the markers jump. Chase made it his goal to make the markers jump so high they would fall out of the tray. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Laurel DiGangi
Nathan was restless. He’d been waiting far too long with nothing to occupy his mind. No phones, zines, or screens. No landscape either: just an endless grassy knoll and sluggish queues of naked people extending to the horizon. The sun, or some other glowing orb, had not budged since he arrived an hour, week, or year ago.
Filed under Fiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 