Tag Archives: Fiction

The Vigil

by Derek Andersen

7:14 p.m.
Already, Joan is running late. But she still hasn’t found the right outfit—the ensemble bold enough to signal a triumphant return from her fifty-four-day leave of absence, but not so bold as to upstage the victims.

She, after all, was on the periphery of The Tragedy that struck Twin Lakes High. Though, perhaps “periphery” was too generous a term. She was on the margins, the outermost fringes. One could argue whether she’d been grazed by its farthest-reaching ripples. Continue reading

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Black Olive

by Julie McClement

“Is it bad if I’m not into racism?” Phoebe asked.

Her brother, Max, was snapping photos of loons as they glided across the lake. This activity, which he referred to as his métier, was one he claimed required monk-like contemplation and he therefore had an annoying tendency to ignore Phoebe while engaging in it. At this, though, he lowered the camera. Continue reading

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The Blue Planet

by Mark Brazaitis

The first trouble was the boy.

Mike Little said he was lonely. He missed his parents and his brother. He missed his bedroom. He missed the café at the corner of the two busy streets where he used to meet his girlfriend after school. This was, of course, before she broke up with him. He was with us because she’d broken up with him, he confessed. He wanted to show her he didn’t need her—he wanted to show her he didn’t need her or the entire earth. Continue reading

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Please Don’t Feed the Philosophers

by Andrew Gretes

The headline read: “ECCENTRIC TRILLIONAIRE OPENS CONTROVERSIAL ZOO OF DEAD PHILOSOPHERS.”

The article explained how Yvette Jocasta Remington III (i.e., our eccentric trillionaire) purchased the world’s leading cloning company so she could genetically resuscitate caput philosophers. To quote Yvette: “I find philosophers sexy, in a neurons in a cranial hot-tub sort of way.” Continue reading

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Greener than Green

by J. T. Townley

So I rang the bell, Chuck answered, and we stared at each other through the screen door.  You remember Chuck. He had a cold beer in his hand. He still wore his uniform, though untucked, shoeless, no gun. He grimaced at my companions, then said: Continue reading

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