Silent Retreat by Jo Beckett-King During afternoon meditation, Bob sweats desperation. Later, his gaze lingers just a little too long on my tank top as we pair up for controlled breathing exercises. Maybe he pictured a moment like this when he booked his place and thought it could be the beginning of something. After all, if a person never speaks, you’re free to project onto him or her as much as you like. Across the room, Stefan has the poise […]
Sunday Stories: “Rattlesnake Girl”
Rattlesnake Girl by Sam Martone Rattlesnake Girl plays bass in a rock n’ roll band. The feather-pluck of her low low notes rattles my bones. Her lines slink beneath the surface of shimmering guitar tides. I watch her on stage and even though I know the lights are too bright on her face, I’m convinced she’s locking eyes with me, and when I’m convinced of this, I cannot turn away, I fear her gaze will rip mine from my skull.
Sunday Stories: “Who I Am”
Who I Am by Cameron L. Mitchell “I’ve got something to tell you,” she said, pausing to light a cigarette. She handed it over, then lit one for herself. After taking a long drag, she breathed the smoke out, watching it drift up into the air where it soon disappeared. “About me,” she added, grabbing the ashtray from the night table and placing it on the bed between us. She was always making declarations like that after a round of […]
Sunday Stories: “Jim and Jen’s Trouser Problem”
Jim and Jen’s Trouser Problem by Lucie Britsch Jim has a problem His jeans have died And he killed them He always thought it would be his mother Who still did his laundry
Sunday Stories: “Hustleblood”
Hustleblood by Casey Michael Henry Jimmy was a hustler unsure of what the new element would entail. The site was already such a labyrinthine construction; it was almost impossible to tell even at this point who was client, patron, provider, etc. It all got lost in some mass-orgy approximation of pixels. Complaints would inevitably arise that one wasn’t absolutely sure of what ‘the goods’ even looked like: slices of pig’s flesh, melted crayons, images that looked more like sand sculptures […]
Sunday Stories: “Faces”
Faces An Essay on 5 Faces & The Meanings of Various Words by Oliver Zarandi Face 1: Arthur I look after the man with no face. My job is to keep enough moisture in the room so his eyeballs don’t dry out. I have to put drops on them manually too and sometimes I am required to take photographs of what used to be his face, to note down any changes.
Sunday Stories: “Ace”
Ace by Allison LaSorda Claire left her building and passed though the noise of city workers emptying an abandoned apartment of its contents. Men in plastic coveralls carried garbage and unused paper towels down a rickety fire escape and dumped everything into the back of a pickup truck. This day was windy, and bits of trash swirled out and coasted over the building while other bits settled, mixed with the heaps of dry leaves assembling curbside. Close to ten in […]
Sunday Stories: “Exercises for the Average Student”
Exercises for the Average Student by Sam Allingham Your job in this exercise is to tell me about yourself. Imagine I know nothing, and that I am not alone; imagine you are invisible, even to your closest friends, to the motion of stoplights, to your pets. This exercise provides a chance to stitch yourself a history; without it, you might wander for many years, alone and uncreated, asking strangers to provide you a name. In this exercise we will practice […]