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Fiction
A slim mirrorless camera sits in the center of a display case among camera lenses and larger DSLR cameras. Technology has vastly improved since this camera came out. Working photographers would replace it with something with more megapixels and a better lens. They’d write off the donation on their taxes.
Fiction
They searched for unholy things that lived amongst the trees. They were born from the very trees they’d be strung up on. A sin birthed smelling of a flower. The mob marched, holding lanterns and axes. They were not people of sin.
Fiction
Between mouthfuls I inspected Nuno. Short, solid built, thick arms and legs. He looked to be in his late thirties but was dressed young, in bell bottom jeans and a pink and purple paisley long-sleeved shirt. He wore his dark brown hair down to his shoulders. I noticed his eyes darting around, circling the room like a flashlight.
Fiction
Everything changed with the arrival of Bo. He walked in high-waisted skinny jeans, his curly hair draping over his shoulder and his back. A thin line of mascara on his eyelashes, a tinge of pink-red on his lips. He was twelve years old, five feet eight inches tall and strutting around the village like a whore of Police Bazaar. You knew immediately that was something you couldn’t stomach. You knew how revolting it is for a boy to walk around like that, staring at men like that, talking to other men like that.
Fiction
Something was off that morning, that pre-dawn, before I went for a walk and crossed paths with The Man Who Sneezed, but to this day I cannot pinpoint just what was off. Maybe it was the fact that I had cream in my usually black coffee that afternoon, or that my daily conversation with my mother got cut short, or maybe the fact that I was so low that night that I got high so as to forget about the low
Fiction
You see me bite my lower lip. Hear the grating screech of metal on floor as I pull a chair over to sit at eye-level, the way they taught us to in medical school when ‘Delivering Bad News’. This is not the quick “The CT scan of your head looks great!” conversation you were hoping for.
Fiction
The General broke out into a fit of laughter, picking up the earthen ball of clay. “Oh, la fille,” he laughed, as my family and I remained still. “You are but a commoner, so you do not know better, but this is a holistically inaccurate depiction!” He would not stop laughing. “Come here, child. You see, the Earth is flat, like this table.”
Fiction
“What kind of purple?” I hadn’t a clue. She prodded me forward. “Is it blue purple or red purple?” Blue purple, I was sure. “And what color is the shadow?” Purplish grey, I guessed. Yes, she said and awarded me the praising smile I coveted.
Fiction
“The marigolds are dying,” Maggie started the conversation as if they were already in the middle of a conversation. She then sucked a cigarette, her exhalation roaring into the receiver. “It’s only September.”
Fiction
Branko was right, Agoston was never very prosperous. He was a blacksmith in the old country
Fiction
Just before dawn. Another blue sky turned orange. I burned through a neighborhood in Agoura Hills.
Fiction
With dawn the rain abated, and as the boy unzipped and peeled back the tent’s door panel to survey the campsite
Fiction
To be fair, Fred does try to “improve” the bus. A few months ago, he installed a wooden stove in the middle of the aisle
Fiction
Only when he passes Ms Kriti in the main corridor does Pujari Lal realize what had happened.
Fiction
A bump came up through the seat, another bump. They had landed. A string of runway lights gliding past, then a row of blue and orange Lufthansa tailplanes
Fiction
She is sixty-seven years of age, she looks her age, and to me she seemed to have aged overnight one day in September 2019.
Fiction
On the couch again, she propped her feet up on the turquoise ottoman and picked up her book but found she couldn’t concentrate.
Fiction
My chest is still buzzing when we rise together from the planks and wander into the meadow.
Fiction
They followed a path down to the shore, suddenly aware of the silence,
Fiction
I turned toward her, trying to appear as though I were looking for a seat or watching out the window.
Fiction
Had I been asleep, I might have missed the sound, like a strange scuttling against the walls. I glanced over at the boy in the corner, but he remained silent
Fiction
A few days later, when they reclaim some of their courage, they call their daughter once more. Kavita explains that her condition is called PTSD.
Fiction
Megh flings himself on the bed and takes the calendar from the table beside his bed. He has marked today’s date.
Fiction
His covers were bunched up and his arm was stretched out towards the door in the ordering gesture. He laid back down.