The Cassette Seller by Lorie Broumand It’s strange to think that if I were someone else, I’d want to be someone else — specifically that someone else that I was. I’m the sort of person who wants only my own face, even though that face is unsightly, because it’s my face; and the sort of person who wants to be sitting in a cubicle entering dates into a spreadsheet, because that’s where I am, sitting in my cubicle entering dates, […]
Sunday Stories: “Heathens”
Heathens by Cameron Stewart Brooks DeAngelis did not wear coveralls the Friday he showed up cologned and flowered on Dana’s front lawn, ready for once to hear the word “Yes.” She had a maple near the door and it flamed in fall color. The wind stole his scent, carried it away. He hated cologne but appreciated what it stood for. He’d spent all yesterday rearranging himself, tiring of each person uncovered. In the back pocket of his Dockers was a […]
Sunday Stories: “The Peace Garden”
The Peace Garden by Frankie Thomas Nonviolence meant nothing to us back then. To us, the word “Quaker” was simply a catch-all explanation for anything weird about our school: it was a Quaker school, so we called our teachers by their first names. It was a Quaker school, so we weren’t allowed to play war, not even the card game War. It was a Quaker school, so we began each day with ten minutes of Silence, which we liked to […]
Sunday Stories: “Like Smoke”
Like Smoke by Tochukwu Emmanuel Okafor Isaac donned his cheaply bought NY cap, squared his shoulders, and adjusted his dark-rimmed glasses until it sat askew on the bridge of his nose from too many adjustments. He looked into the cracked mirror, admiring his slow transformations, but did not see his tender arms jutting out from a cot east of the room. He did not see his mother in a white maternity gown standing by a table, preparing his baby meal […]
Sunday Stories: “The Damage”
The Damage by Hayley Hudson The night Janet gave birth to her second child, she woke up with a pain below her stomach and knew she had to get to the hospital, even though the baby wasn’t due for three more weeks. She had fallen asleep on the couch with the TV on and buzzing. Her husband John was backpacking in the Grand Tetons; absent. She looked at her daughter, Chloe, sleeping on the sofa’s other end in her Little […]
Sunday Stories: “Ella”
Ella by Kevin Clouther The first day—many years ago, in a life so pregnant with possibility I woke up some mornings an artist and other mornings an astronaut, though in reality I held a health-insurance-less position at a pharmaceutical company—she was waiting for me. The first day I noticed her hair, which was the sort of blond that’s probably natural. That seems, in any event, like it’s natural, though what do men know about these things? What does it even […]
Sunday Stories: “Verga Disaster”
Verga Disaster by Michael T. Fournier The end started when Addie Pocene stopped playing guitar mid-song. It was hard for Verga Disaster to see all the way across the Boston stage– the harsh theater spotlights rendered Addie a silhouette. Before this tour, supporting Festival of Hamburgers, their band Greenspan drew maybe twenty people per show, graduating in a few towns from basement parties to dingy bars with stages jammed into far corners.
Sunday Stories: “When the darkness comes back”
When the darkness comes back by neni demetriou Suffering from anxiety and losing the one you love feels a lot like penance. And I can’t breathe; and Father, forgive me for I have sinned. I used to slay my demon with my pen. Used to exorcise him from the night, my mind, from my dreams, our bed; used to silence the hauntings that echoed in the catacombs of my brain with a touch of your hand.