Flash

LIES ABOUT THE WORST WAY TO DIE by Dawson Kiser

April 24, 2019

There are a lot of shitty ways to die. A quick Google search of the worst ways to die will lead you down a not so wonderful rabbit hole of people drowning, burning, being eaten by animals, even falling in volcanoes. Not that I’m an expert on dying, but I’m walking into the hospital right now for my third year of chemotherapy and I’d argue this must be on the top 10 shittiest ways to die. Burning? That sounds horrific but from my limited research I found out you black out within 20 to 30 seconds. Your worst 30 seconds

THE TROLL BY THE EAST BRIDGE by Helen Armstrong

April 23, 2019

The thing that very many people fail to grasp about city planning is that a lot of planning goes into it: ha ha. This is always my gag at parties and it very often falls upon deaf ears. I’m uncertain whether people don’t want to find me funny, or if they just don’t understand my humor. When the troll by the East Bridge – creatively named by Richardson, the city planner before me, whose interests included golfing and beer and golf clubs – demanded a sacrifice or he’d torch the town, people certainly weren’t laughing anymore. And they weren’t laughing

PRINCIPAL ALPACA by Richard Leise

April 22, 2019

Interim Principal Gregory Jenne has Alopecia universalis. But he is accustomed to this; has dealt with the condition all of his life; survived the childhood taunts; rationalized the rejections; no longer dreams of eyebrows and eyelashes. Having recently celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday, he assesses his present position. He finds that he is satisfied, proud of his accomplishments. Lesser men would have created excuses. Weaker individuals would have hidden in their parents’ basements. He likes to think of himself as methodical. Scrupulous. Tall, his arms are longer than they should be, and this makes it difficult—no, this makes it impossible—for him

THE PROBLEM WAS STARTING by Alex Behr

April 21, 2019

The problem was coming up with reasons to scoop rice on the plate one more night. The stove worked. She could boil water. Pasta. Rice. Pasta. Rice. Boil and pour and scoop and swallow. The problem was the streetlight. The streetlight leaked through the blinds, and she could put the extra pillow over her head, but she feared the nightmares. She waited until the birds started singing or squawking or whatever they did at 4 a.m. from branches the cat couldn’t reach. The problem was her son: she forgot to smile at him. But she scooped the rice. She scooped the pasta. She

MEALS OF OUR CHILDREN by Will Gilmer

April 19, 2019

I put chicken breasts next to the eggs to thaw and wonder if these eggs were born from the birds whose bodies will become my dinner. I pull out oil from olives that will never become trees and baby bean sprouts who will never know pods of their own. I make double in case Trevor decides to come down for dinner. I know it’ll matter on how many pills he took, how much he slept today, and if he’s even here. When he vanishes I “run the circuit”, drive from flop house to flop house scanning over the buffet of

SIX FEET, BLEEK, AND BURIED by Exodus Oktavia Brownlow

April 15, 2019

Six feet could be ten feet. Six feet could be sixty. Six feet was not a lot. Six feet was one of him. It starts with an ending. Bleek, a man with big hips. They curved against the box. And he saw their fullness. The mirror reflected. Lying, they looked more grave. And he understood why. Why they gave him such looks. Why they envied his curves. Six feet could be ten feet. Six feet could be fifty. Six feet was not a lot. One new fridge—a big box. Bleek had an old iPhone. With service still intact. It was

BUMMING by Chelsea Harris

April 14, 2019

We’re outside the corner store bumming smokes off each other. He’s a redhead, says he’s got a bad habit of picking his face. The whole thing covered in craters. Our friend shows up, Andy. He’s got something to show us. We take a drive. Up the road there’s a car. Totaled. Hit a tree. We get out of ours and I slam the door, hard, a privilege. There’s someone inside the wreck. A crumpled napkin. A pair of puckered lips. Andy tries to pull her out but her body has been deflated. I poke at the airbags. She’s dead, the

ETYMON STREET VIEW by Mike Corrao

April 8, 2019

She (subject) receives a note which says, “I am without past.” On the backside is a photograph of a street sign: Roberta Ave. The crossroad is obscured. What used to be green is now dull and graying. Its metal spine curves to the left. Backgrounds are warped by time. The subject is tasked with determining the origins of this symbol. Finding what has been vacated of context. Erasures performed without audience. Certain criteria are arranged to flesh out her process. Suites are dressed in ethernet cables and blue light filters. Rounds of copper are blanketed in rubberized shells. She moves

THE FIRST TIME I PERFORMED by Benjamin Niespodziany

April 7, 2019

1. The first time I performed in Russia was under the direction of the king. His daughter’s best friend’s wedding was held in a refurbished factory that once made statues of the great whirling dervishes. I was the third piece of the matryoshka at the wedding, jumping out of a cloud once the song started to play. The fellow who fell after me broke his leg, and the rest of the event was a medical disaster. The king got drunk. We still got paid. 2. The first time I performed in Penn Station, an overweight man asked me to be

LITTLE SISTER, WHY HAVEN’T WE HEARD FROM YOU? by Timothy Boudreau

April 4, 2019

We remember the shy teenager who visited aunts and uncles with a novel and a piece of knitting. The adult in an over-sized sweater, huddled in a corner over a cup of tea. Though separated by ten years we had similar interests and for a time considered ourselves creative people. We always meant to collaborate. What happened? * Especially now I feel you may have insight to offer. Wisdom from a place unknown to the rest of us. Thus enclosed find a few ideas. Feel free to alter them in any way. Merge your memories. Melt your vision over mine