Bradley Sides Recommends: Nine Collections that Capture Rural Settings in their Simple Beauty
Oftentimes, as a kid in rural Alabama, I fell asleep with my window open. I could hear a mix of cows mooing, frogs croaking, and creeks flowing. It was the best sound machine I’ve ever had. The days were just as pleasant. I swam in ponds, gave show cows baths, and hung out with my grandfather in his expansive garden. Each day was brimming with the natural beauty of the rural world. In my debut novella, The Volcano Keeper (Regal House, 2026), I plant my characters in a fictionalized rural Alabama community that is similar to the one I’m from.
Back when we lived in the flat that faced the street by Amber Ken
A man knocked on the door to comment on what we were eating for dinner, ‘got cheese on that’, he said, ‘can I have some?’ We were eating spaghetti bolognese, and then rethinking our table’s proximity to the windows. Back when we lived in the flat that faced the street we were watching reality TV one summer night, the smell of cigarette smoke. It wasn’t hot enough to need the windows open. I turned my head, saw fat fingers wriggling through our letterbox as though taunting. We let our dog do the talking and ran to the bedroom. Back when
Sex With Marge Simpson by Julián Martinez
We demand the presence of Marge Simpson—no family, no security—this Friday, 10am, at the Mt. Splashmore front entrance, right when they open the gates. A day of thrill and adventure for Marge and whichever suitor she will choose, her one true Husband and her, culminating in a weekend at Rancho Relaxo—any Marge fan worth their salt remembers Marge’s spa getaway. But the irresponsibilities of Homer brought her back to the rags of the household. This server, once the Husband’s chosen, will self-destruct—no rubbing it in, no rushing to screenshot what’s different about this hotel breakfast from their morning before. Those
Keepsake by Mark Williams
I was nursing a beer at Hoosier’s Bar in Cooke City, Montana, when he walked in. Little guy, about my age. Mid-twenties. He had blond dreadlocks and a scruffy goatee. There were a few people sitting at tables, but except for me, the bar was empty. With a dozen-or-so stools to choose from, Dreadlocks sat two down from me. I’d been working on my beer for most of a Chiefs/Colts game. The fourth quarter was about to start. Until then, the only words I’d heard the bartender say were, “We’re out of that,” to the waitress and, “Drink up, we
Angelshell by Sacha F. Lees
Bet you’re wondering, aren’t you, your eminence – how’d a broad like this even afford Tom Ford. Bespoke menswear. Real tailoring. You know, back in the glory days, when I still had my own body, it was this exact blend, this exact cut I had on when they swore me in. Hand to Gosh. I’ll be the first to admit, Mona’s a lot slimmer than I was, but you’re looking at a sixtyfive-year-old man in here. Have a heart, come on. I’m sorry she couldn’t be here to explain this herself. No respect for an exorcism. Not a Catholic, that
[Scene 5. Ext. – Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins
AUDIENCE settles in their seats as curtains rise. CECELIA enters from stage left and looks at the abomination of iron and rope fused to the catwalks the MANAGER jury-rigged from upstage to the mezzanine. Sunlight behind CECELIA fades through the tangle of pulleys, cranks, and gears above her. She lingers mid-stage for a beat too long. CECELIA: I swear, every day Father grows more cross. The shadow of a tower looms over CECELIA and AUDIENCE. The sunlight dies behind the horizon, but the shadow clings to CECELIA, as if trying to ease her transition into the dark. CECELIA: If he