Fiction

TROUT by Kaye Gilhooley

February 17, 2019

I took up fishing late in life. My husband says I fish too much. The smooth length of the rod in my hand is powerful. Did you know my Daiwa carbon 9ft rod is rated to 15 kg? 15kg! That’s the weight of a small child. I fish in the fast stream that borders the south of our farm. It’s the closest boundary to the house. It flows under the bridge and soon feeds into the river, wide and deep. I took up fishing when my daughter went missing. Trout. My brother called her that because when she was a

IN COMMON by Chance Dibben

February 13, 2019

Our heads were a perfect match for each other. Inside mine, a wasp that wriggled in and built a nest. It leaves periodically to get pollen, do wasp things, and then returns to the cavern of my ears. Initially, I couldn’t handle the itchy sensation the wasp made when it corkscrewed back into my head—my shoulders rising as if pulled, my spine wound in terror. Enough of anything, though, and you’ll get used to it. How the wasp has lived this long, is a mystery. Maybe it’s not the same wasp. Inside Amanda’s head is a thunderstorm. I thought she

dear the eartH by JP Vallières

February 12, 2019

dear the eartH sendar saying maybe the earth help sendaR sendar in quest of the earth habitatioN sendar from nodaN nodians now gone inexplicably removed from galaxY dear the eartH maybe help sendaR sendar last one current in nodaN big day of reckoninG only sendar livinG dear the eartH sendar an artisT before big day of reckoning fatherman saying sendar not be artisT dear the eartH when existing fatherman saying sendar achieve license for galaxy rideR sendar saying galaxy rider does not fit into artist incarnatioN dear the eartH sendar now shameful not knowing how to

WITH NO. 27 by Gregg Williard

February 11, 2019

Specialist Hatfield had just finished No. 26. Her boots thudded over the pine and plywood walkway, springy as a playground. Near the inside gate she hopped off onto sand and crushed coral, took a few steps and stopped to jot something down on her clipboard and to check the bruises and blood on her knuckles. The two nearest perimeter guards saw a conscientious professional taking care of details. She kept her boonie hat down. She worked hard and was up for promotion. She felt lucky to be at the camp, far away from combat duty. She followed the Army imperative:

ELSA LANCHESTER’S ABORTION by J. Edward Kruft

February 10, 2019

Her own parents never married – an intentional thumbing of the nose to Victorian-era London – and she wondered, as she watched her husband padding off toward the pool, leaving his statuette on the piano, if she hadn’t best done the same. She loved Charles, and she was relatively certain he loved her – at the very least he adored her – but after four years as Mrs. Charles Laughton, Elsa was well aware of her husband’s preferences and proclivities and while on the surface it didn’t bother her to the degree a wife should be bothered, things changed that

ROBOT MOTHER by Brittany Weeks

February 8, 2019

How is Raptor. Who is Raptor. I forgot your boyfriend’s name. Raptor sent me an article about the water temple in Ocarina of Time. The article is from 2007. Everly’s warmth is calculated. In her eyes I might be God too. Everly is asking for help strategically, she is earning love. My throat is tight and small and my arms weigh into the ground, Everly is amused by my amusement. When her voice becomes sticky sweet and high and she innocently dances on doe legs that look shaky but move quickly around Raptor, her eyes light up as he struts directly

ARMILUSTRIUM by Rebecca Otter

February 7, 2019

My dad plays chess like a mathematician. Each of his turns stretch on while he contemplates the board from every angle and I forget my grand strategy. To entertain myself in these gaps, I look where his gaze falls. When he mutters to himself, is he frustrated with my playing? Or is that another tactic meant to confuse me further? When he finally chooses one lucky piece with a heavy sigh, how that piece gleams in the TV light as he lifts it—slowly, as he does most things. My dad is okay at defense. But he’s ruthless at offense, felling

THE SWANS WHO SAY MOM by Amanda Claire Buckley

February 6, 2019

The mother punches a mouth in the wall, and we climb through it. The mother punches a throat in the wall and the father puts a picture of daisies over it. We walk along the linings of the lungs and whisper we love our mother quietly to ourselves. We walk along the wall until it becomes the bottom of a lake. We walk along the bottom of the lake in the wall and we murmur to each other about our situation: our murmurs rise up like captions to cartoons. The bubbles fall out of the mouths of swans—we love our

BLOOD! by Oliver Zarandi

February 5, 2019

The elderly lady bleeds every day in my favourite cafe. The owner accommodates this and surrounds her with buckets. He mops it up. Sometimes he puts her in a bathtub, right there in the centre of the café, and she fills it up, laughing and bleeding. People applaud and remark on her unique nature. I hate her, I tell my husband, I hate her with all my heart. He says nothing because he’s a coward. He carries on reading his newspaper and ignores me. He has beady eyes and untrustworthy hands. He has the bony toes of a medieval Jesus.

HOLD YOUR BREATH by Spencer Litman

February 4, 2019

Meet your wife in the hallway. Do not make the door handle click by turning it with too much force. Avoid kicking the toys scattered like landmines on the carpet. You do not want to wake your daughter, but you need to see her breathing. Walk to the crib rail like a procession of two. Place your hands on your wife’s shoulders in case she melts like she did when she found your son cold-dead in the middle of the night. Repeat this ritual while your daughter sleeps every forty minutes for the first six months of her life. Try