He sat in the middle with his touch screen smile, flicking his fringe, calling us homies. JC broke his sausage roll into pieces, said it was his body, offered Dr Pepper as his blood, told us he loved us but was going away for a while. #Small town #Loser. Bruh, Tommy muttered, lips stained
No was my sister’s second word. Her first was dada, which Mom said didn’t count because it was an extension of babble. No came after and my sister would yell it until she was red and streaked with snot. Geez, said Mrs. Shulman from next door, that baby sure knows her own mind. No, my
Competition Thirty-Three Winning Flash Fiction: My Sister’s Second Word Read More »
Mama says hate grows slowly; it festers in corners, plants its seed, gains momentum until its tendrils tighten around the core of you, the kind of weed you need to rip out before it takes hold of everything. Mama says hate is an ugly flower. It has no scent she reckons, but insects still swarm
Competition Thirty Shortlisted: Mama Says Read More »
*****Keeping the Chill in Your Icebox for Longer! Damn, we could use more ice, brighter smiles, lipstick on the rim of a glass as we slide the last olive down a cocktail stick towards the summer’s end. Chin Chin. Raise your Martini like a flag. Half- close your eyes, ice could be diamonds.
Competition Twenty-Eight Highly Commended: The New Perfection Refrigerator, 1930 Read More »
Being short wasn’t as bad as feeling disempowered. You were working double shifts for peanuts while Gabe got to float down from above, good news like balm on his lips and an eyebrow arched in disbelief when he told Skinny Mary she was with child. The Three Wise Men got a tip off, solid gold
Everything here is gun metal grey and you, a half-formed soldier. Smoke billows with industry, burns like funeral pyres. The smell of a bonfire sends you back. Your father said it would make you a man; you returned to him a shadow. Edie places your hand in hers, but it never stays warm. You brought
They said your ma would lift her skirts for the hint of a gold rush, so you balled your fists and knocked them down in the dirt. When you pulled them up on well-worn boots it was hard to see their scorn for grit. You kicked your heels and ran to be free from their
Competition Seventeen Winning Story: Frontier Read More »
*****They caw caw so damned sure of themselves, circling the boys and jabbing at shoulders, their bitten down nails flecked with shades of summer sky and sea grey. Give us a chip, they squawk, and guffaw as if their hassle is funny. The loudest boy throws a chip in the air, so they flap their
Competition Fifteen Winner: Here Come The Gulls Read More »
