Showing results for Fiction
One Hundred One Sentences for Sir Ernest Shackleton
Kelly Ramsey
1. It was always ice. Ice: a word like a shard of glass shived in his ribs. The dark plain he was bound to travel. His paramour, his nightmare, his lost thumb. His vice.
Symptomatic
Valerie Vogrin
You are a diagnostician, alert for symptoms: ridged fingernails, yellow eye-whites, swollen knuckles, broken capillaries.
The Zebulons
Brett Beach
Our town’s ordinance—passed in 1862—named the first-born son of each family Zebulon.
Zombie Ant Fungus
Joshua Shaw
My ex, Mark, calls me at two in the morning to tell me he’s figured out what’s causing his problems.
To Fall is to Serve the Public Good
Shane Hunt
Defenestrated again. On the way down I regret that it isn’t raining.
Brass on Oak; Oak on Marble; Marble on Glass; Glass on Steel
Andrew Brininstool
Ed's note: This story originally ran on Hobart in 2010. In celebration of the upcoming publication of Andrew Brininstool's book, Crude Sketches Done in Quick Succession, in which this story
No Room for Discontent
Olga Zilberbourg
Four decades after breaking off our high school romance, we found each other again, I, Phillip, twenty-five years into my second marriage, and I, Lily, divorced.
Not This Town
Tina V. Cabrera
The fact that it happened at the town's polar bear research station is irrelevant. A polar bear didn't kill the child.
The Painter's Delay
Matt Bell
The parents were not without greed, and so the younger painted, and as she painted the painting changed.
Dead Poet, No Fun
Caitlin Barasch
On the night I left your apartment, my phone died.
What I Could Buy
Leslie Pietrzyk
What I could buy with the insurance money they gave me when you died:
One Ferrari, red or black, assuming V-8 instead of V-12, assuming premium gas, assuming insurance, assuming no major
The God of the Living Room
Paul Luikart
I’m in Tom's apartment staring at the big deer head he has hanging on the wall of his living room. Tom has a small place and the deer head looks enormous. Some kind of giant, mutant deer, like it's
How I Spent My Summer Vacation
Andrew M. Howard
She asks me to tell her a story. Almost every night she can’t sleep. I’m no storyteller, I’ll say, and at first I would start off with robots and fantastic bears, trying to make my own Where the
Grand Army of the Republic Highway
Jacob White
I am driving through the hill country when I spot up ahead, in the dip between two hills, this young buck with his thumb out, sleeveless, flaunting the white underside of a supple tanned bicep
Him or His Brother
Anna Lea Jancewicz
I was wearing white lipstick when I pressed a kiss onto the dirty window in the back corner of his mother’s garage, pasting spider silk and bone-colored dust to the glass. I left that mark to be
Food Memories
Sara McGrath
The girl you spent a whole summer watching Beverly Hills 90210 and eating McDonald’s lunches with ran up behind you, taking hold of your backpack.
Somewhere Between Now and the Zucchini
Warren Buchanan
I ran into myself at the grocery store the other day. The store had just run out of Cookie Crisp cereal. The worst part was that I'd gone to the store specifically to get the cereal, along with
Recent Books
Pregaming Grief
Danielle Chelosky
Love is like a museum. You have to look around, experience things, and then leave.
Backwardness
Garielle Lutz
Garielle's longest, most peculiar, most particularized book. A sure-to-be collector's item. Delivery 4-6 weeks!
Dear Nico: the Diary of Elizabeth Ellen (Nov, 2018-Feb, 2020)
Elizabeth Ellen
"Is this the actual diary you wrote at the time? The diary reads a lot like a novel, with its motifs of the murderess, the acupuncturist, etc." -Garielle Lutz, author of Worsted and The Complete Gary Lutz