by Robert L. Penick
I am the only house left after the tornado introduces a new order to the neighborhood. Other dwellings, greater and lesser, have been multiplied and extrapolated across lawns, streets, and sidewalks. “Is this entropy?” I wonder, as my windows gaze out over the recent diffusion of order. Things are not what they used to be, but this is certain: Zillow listings will need to be updated. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Robin E. Field
The green apron shields her muʻumuʻu from splashes of whole milk, oat milk, almond milk, the steamed milk and cold foam that crown the cups of coffee at the Starbucks on Waikīkī. Her name badge reads Lydia. Regal before the espresso machine, she sways the steam wand through the milk, graceful, precise, hips undulating before the song of steam. Continue reading
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by Travis Flatt
My dog, Hero, is double dead.
Shortly after my nephew’s parents leave for their anniversary dinner, Parker comes to me brandishing Hero’s empty food bowl, demanding why I haven’t fed her, that she must have now (double) died of starvation.
Those first few minutes of drop-off were rough; the news of Hero’s death was delivered to Parker as he ran around, eager to pet and scritch Hero. My sister-in-law and I chased him, asking him to listen. My brother, oblivious, described the guitar he’d just bought.
We caught Parker in my living room. I tried to explain that Hero died last week, gave up, and turned it over to my sister-in-law. Turns out “went to heaven” is their euphemism. Continue reading
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by John Brantingham
Clare sees the branch lying on the road that looks like it could pop someone’s tire or crack and break a windshield or something. It’s on the bridge over the mostly frozen Chadokoin River. The bridge has iced over enough that Clare doesn’t trust her feet walking home. She’s holding onto the retaining wall to make sure she doesn’t slip. Her mother would yell at her if she came home with black slush on her pants. Continue reading
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by Zoran Ernjakovic
Brian’s new roommate arrived three weeks into the semester, dragging nothing but a small silver cube that hummed when you got too close.
“My name is Zyx,” he said, extending a hand that gripped just a beat too long. “Pronounced like ‘zicks.'”
He was clearly an alien. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
