Purple Hand Man
by James Jacob Hatfield
for Bud Smith
The average length of a stoplight in an area like this is a about 33 seconds. I’m counting while the man with purple hands slows down the car. Rolls down the window. Fires twice on the guy in the passenger seat, three times on the driver, twice on the backseat. Then gone ahead and wrapped the searing hot barrel with a towel. Puts the car in park. Extends himself as far as he can out his own window.
Camera Obscura
by Amy DeBellis
The party was held in a small apartment building that looked, from the street, like it might be about to topple over in any direction. “The leaning tower of pizza,” Jade said, because they had just passed a pizza place on the same block, but Will looked at her blankly. She thought of explaining, and then decided against it.
The elevator was broken, so they walked up the stairs, which smelled like sawdust and paint. “Are you sure we’re at the right place?” Jade asked more than once. She was aware of how annoying she sounded yet was helpless to stop herself, because she had drilled into her brain years ago that the only thing worse than being annoying was being too quiet.
Epiphany
by Russ Doherty
“This music is The Future of the Irish Culture.”
As dozens of fiddle notes flood the room, that phrase leaps out of my mouth. The music grabs me by the throat.
My wife, Therese, snorts, indicating her take on my epiphany. She tosses back her Irish whiskey and orange juice and says, “You always think your private insights are so important. That’s BS. This is nothing but the same folk music I danced to in high school.” Sinead, our daughter, keeps right on coloring with her newfound five-year-old friend, Caitlin.
The Silent And The Taxidermist
by Ryan Harbert
Two rabbits tangoed on a miniature dance floor. Their glass eyes reflected a single, naked light bulb burning like a make-believe asteroid overhead. Wires straightened the rabbits’ spines, locking them upright in human posture. Stuffing filled the hollow cavities of their bodies. They embraced each other on a movie-set diorama made of plastic and Styrofoam, saturated with the smell of wet paint. An orchestra of tuxedo-wearing mice played in silent 4/4 time just behind the dance floor. Sparrows in flat caps and bowties framed the dancing rabbits in toy cameras. Their movie set rested on a workbench in a basement with blackout curtains over all the windows. A girl named Lexis sat at the bench, brushing a coat of gloss onto a bullfrog. She talked to herself, listening to her words twist alongside the animals stuck in eternal freeze-frame.
Pucker
by Kevin Lenaghan
“Well, that doesn’t look too bad!” John Fergus said, both hands resting proudly on his hips as he regarded his handiwork.
The small, blue tent was sitting in a mostly upright position, three metal rods still lying unused on the grass next to it. He picked them up, regarded them suspiciously, then shrugged and threw them back down. “Sure, they always give you a few spare parts!”
Just then the tent, already leaning slightly to one side, fell down flat. He stood staring for a moment, his heavily bearded mouth frowning, hands still on his hips.
Chafing
by Em Pisacic
When my period first skipped, in February, I thought it was no biggie. A month later, after pregnancy tests came back negative, I dismissed its continued absence as a consequence of having started running more than twenty miles a week. April was spotless. May marked my third half-marathon, two months since I last had sex with Jack, and three since I had enjoyed it.
It Will Not Be the Same
(Or: If the Government Asks, I’m a Cis Woman)
by Madison LaTurner
This will not be like that time I got my wisdom teeth out. Before I even knew about the trope of gay people being worried they would accidentally out themselves to their parents while under the influence of the anesthetics and pain meds, I was worried about accidentally outing myself to my parents while under the influence of the anesthetics and pain meds. I was worried about telling my mom that I had begun to think of her as a monster, that I have begun telling my friends that something is wrong but I can’t quite put my finger on it, that the moment she lets me off leash I will run and then keep running. No—it will not be like that. This surgery is gay itself. I will meet my match.
Where the One-Eyed Man Is King
by Alex Behr
There was a little hole. A hole in the shoe’s sole. The shoe was behind a tree, a lackluster beach tree near the bay, but no one remembered losing a shoe much less putting it there. Frito barked and carried it over. Dropped it in front of Sharon, sitting on a plaid blanket. Sharon took that as a good sign. She was on meds. So were her mother and her sisters and nieces, but not the men in the family. Well, they took statins that ruined their erections, a rare side effect, but too bad for them, but they didn’t take anything for the anxiety that resulted from being on statins, or losing their erections. But if they weren’t on statins they might keel over, like when moving rocks or taking down storm windows. They drooled on their pillows. They told good jokes.