by Ryan White
Within two years, Alice Sellers had lost her cat, Kevin, and her lifelong companion, Ruth. She would’ve given anything to get them back. But no such bargain could be had, so she wanted revenge. And since there was no revenge against hemorrhagic stroke, Alice’s last hope was killing the coyote that’d eaten Kevin five nights previous. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Abbie Doll
She woke up to a mountain range in her mouth.
Such an awe-inspiring sight caught her by surprise, despite the numbing weight of her still-present drowsiness. She stood there gawking at her reflection, bewildered by the distinctly Himalayan scene sprouting from her mandible crust. A series of jagged, panicky exhalations fogged up the glass, while her minty-mist breath worked to sculpt a pleasant-yet-bleak bathroom atmosphere. The air felt thinner somehow, and the landscape of her mind felt just as clouded, just as inaccessible as the sky-piercing peaks she saw there in the mirror. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Anthony Otten
With you and your dad gone, I live in the quiet. Mostly I’m fine with it. When I want my conversation fix I sit in my wicker chair on the porch, like I am today, and wait for the mailman. He’s a young Black guy in a blue cap and shorts. Real polite. I don’t know, maybe I scare him. Old white lady in socks and sandals, feet too sore for shoes. Squinty little glasses I hardly need since Medicare did my cataracts. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Kristi Ferguson
He learned if he could make Mom laugh, everything would be okay.
He relied on that certainty when she discovered him sneaking to the corner store, first for candy, then for beer and cigarettes. He used it when he was months behind on child support after the first unplanned pregnancy, before the DNA results came back and the baby turned out not to be his. It was there again when he admitted to the second baby, which was his, after Mom received a midnight Facebook message from the pregnant ex-girlfriend, telling her everything. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by William Hawkins
Not much troubles the gargoyles of il Duomo di Milano. They feel neither rain nor wind nor the scratch of lichen. They jut into space blind and deaf. Though I have heard they do know the sun, as even light can enter stone. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 