Fiction

Diplomats by Matt Rowan

May 25, 2026

This was a town that got really excited about a Bigfoot sighting the winter before, but whose residents were crestfallen to learn that it was only a mound of old wigs someone had dumped out there, in the brambles, where a bear could get into them. Then some bear had gotten into them and started slinking around with a mound of old wigs on its back. The bear had yet to be captured, and for all anyone knew it was still roaming the wilderness as some kind of indomitable mound of hair with razor-sharp teeth and claws. A scary thought

Adolescent Nesting Disorder by David Scott Hay

May 20, 2026

Mandy screams her son’s name as pine needles crunch underfoot. Missing for thirty-six hours, the Park Service worries. You can go days without water, she remembers, more without food. Her son is lean, but resourceful. So many mornings he’s helped his younger brother get ready for school. Still, she takes an ogre’s swig from her flask and screams into the forest and listens for a response, a rebuttal, an echo. Anything. Nothing. A pine cone lands at her feet, and then a stick. Her heart now the thrum of a hummingbird. She cranes her neck and sees a large shadow.

Narcotics Anonymous by Jennifer Ostopovich

May 18, 2026

I’m not quite old enough to stay home by myself while my mom works, so I tag along to my dad’s NA meeting with him. I snag a ball from a large plastic bin on wheels and bounce it off the wall in the opposite corner of the school gymnasium where the meeting is held. No one seems to mind. The men are focused on their meeting and barely acknowledge I’m there. I pretend not to listen while each one details his struggles with addiction. Darren “No-Nose” Gibson is the first to speak. He rubs at the bridge of his

Slug Life by Matthew Dexter

May 14, 2026

I blow blunt smoke of Unicorn Poop in the shape of brontosauruses through my tracheotomy hole. My son Connor is a gangsta rapper. Connor rocks relentlessly on our rickety porch swing, guzzling cans of Coors Light, spitting rhymes to the beat of the squeaky double-loop chain. His Mormon friends listen intently, bopping their skulls with the wizardry of worldly tweakers. Connor can catch a sunburn from the refrigerator lightbulb. His flow is smoother than a baby-oiled boob and colder than a clew of earthworms. Connor’s rap name is Cocaine Cul-De-$ac. His YouTube channel bankrolls cases of Coors Light, gaudy gold

A Day In the Life by Kaylee Howard

May 13, 2026

I am watching men kill pedophiles in Walmart online while my mother cooks dinner. I guess they don’t kill them directly — a self-inflicted shotgun spray to the skull will do them in after two thousand comments about his texts with minors and allegedly small penis appear in the comments. It doesn’t make the local news because they aren’t allowed to put suicides on the news. My mom got the recipe for the pasta she is making from a blog that insisted on inserting ten paragraphs of the creator’s life story before mentioning a single ingredient. I’m not sure if

Miracle on Route 45 by Owen Harrington

May 11, 2026

There was only one way things could end. I was trying to find something else to think about and he emerged, covered in red clay mud like the first or last man, right onto state route 45. The ride back to State College was just long enough to fixate on something, but not long enough to work up the nerve to turn around. It strung together Mifflinburg, Harleton, and Milheim like the dim lights of a dying civilization in the heart of darkest Amish country, and had few features to catch the wandering eye. But just past Mifflinburg, a man

One Late Summer Morning by Louis Scantlebury

April 22, 2026

1 One late summer morning, we found two ladybugs humping doggy-style in Max’s garden. We held each other and watched them. “Look,” Max said, “the top one is pinning down the legs of the bottom one.” “The thrusting is so smooth,” I said. “Their bodies are so shiny,” Max said. “They remind me of us,” I said, and bent down to pick them up. “Amy, what the fuck!” Max said. “But I want them to come inside and be with us when we have sex,” I said. “That’s so sweet,” Max said. “OK, pick them up.” I placed my finger

City Limits by Hannah Smart

April 20, 2026

“They’re saying it hurt a lot.” “Well, yeah. Dying tends to do that.” “But this wasn’t, like, a typical death.” Four people sit at the table next to mine—two men and two women. One woman is blonde; the other is brunette. The guy talking has black hair gelled straight backwards. The diner loudspeakers blare some decade-old Taylor Swift tune. “Dumb Teenager Dies in Car Crash,” the blonde says, making flashing motions with her hands to signify BREAKING NEWS. “More at eight.” “Are we sure it was a car crash?”—the other guy. His face is that of someone who takes steroids

Fruit Cutting Factory by Chuckie Smith

April 7, 2026

There are bugs in the watermelon. They’re supposed to be bugless but they always have the little white maggot bugs and sometimes, like today, they have the black scarab weevil bugs even though they’re supposed to be bugless. I never know if I should remove the bugs or not. Nobody else seems to mind them but it bothers me to label containers “bugless watermelon” when they clearly contain watermelon that contain bugs. We’re not supposed to deviate from the label’s ingredient list. But if I took the time to meticulously pull each bug out, the others would look at me

THE BOARD GAME (33 CONSECUTIVE BLOG ENTRIES FROM GOODSUNFUN.WORDPRESS.COM) by Tyler Plofker

April 3, 2026

July 9, 2025 Today I started a wonderful new project! Im making a board game! The board is made of dirt. The dirt is 300 yards by 300 yards and is outside. there is one piece (so far) and it is a little bird. The little bird is dead. (I did not kill the little bird)!!! July 11, 2025 I was trying to think of rules. I was thinking of rules for the game for how many spaces to move. I thought maybe the player will throw their bird (dead) into a dirt patch (maybe) and depending on which