GOOD LIGHT by Chris Ames
I pull up hard and dredge out a congealed braid of hair the length of an arm. Horrified, I keep pulling and it just keeps coming.
ONE EVENING IN APRIL AS A COLD FRONT COMES IN by Christopher Mohar
For one heartbeat, I wanted it to be true. I wanted to see my own father facedown on the tile, spattered in his own blood.
ÔM by Lily Thu Fierro
2:00 A.M. Tonight’s crowd is mostly gone. Good tips. No grabs. I did alright.
THE GROOM by Paul Ruta
I just work here, okay, so it weren’t my job to speak up when I dug the ring out of Prince’s hoof with my pick, packed into the groove there with the mud and manure. I stuck it in my pocket and said nothing cause they’d only take it away from me and they got no right. Anyhow it’s just a plain wedding band, but solid gold I reckon, so it’s gonna be worth something.
THE BOOK OF INTRACTICUS, THE SECOND PERSON TO BE SWALLOWED BY A WHALE by David K. Gibson
And lo, not fifteen minutes after the ship had cast off its ropes, a giant Phoenician dropped his last denarius into a brass bucket and Intracticus retired to the bar, where he proceeded to become loaded, even as unto the dice.
THE SUNSET MACHINE by Tamar Nachmany
But getting pregnant was highly unlikely under these circumstances. Etgar slept across town. And sexting couldn’t get you pregnant.
THE HUNDRED YEAR PERIOD by Leah Smolin
Today marks my one hundredth anniversary working at the waffle factory. They threw a little party for me in the breakroom—coffee in paper cups, a pink cake with ONE HUNDRED written on it in frosting. My friend Ellie mimed throwing up on the cake. I laughed and covered my mouth with my cup.
THE BEGINNING OF DUSK by Jon Berger
Back in high school Jared would come to our lunch table and say the craziest shit to get a laugh out of everyone. We would egg him on and tell him to go to other lunch tables and say the same vile shit.
SISY WUZ HERE by John Waterfall
The baby never wakes up, no matter how high he throws it, how far he punts it into the strange lunar twilight of Hell. No, it never stirs, despite the whirls and twirls. Through the chops and knocks, baby sleeps on.
OYSTERS AT THE FAMILY FARM by Jo Unruh
The old say to the young: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. And when the old men speak these words, they are sincere, because the world has been delivered unto them, and the world is now theirs to bestow.