We Were Glassassins by Rob Roensch Our first name was Big Farting Baby. That lasted one weekend. We have been Jackrabbit Tornado, Tulsa Cold, Five Five Five Five and, almost, Unscissor. We were Glassassins, back when Sean’s cousin was still on the drums, but he was even worse at keeping quiet during the quiet parts than Sean is, and also preferred video games and painkillers to knowing what day it was. So we needed another name. We were just about […]
Sunday Stories: “The Exhibition”
The Exhibition by Lindsay Parnell “It’s a waste, lager like that—I’ll make something good for you,” says the barman from Kilkenney whose face and voice and hands are hero handsome like Peck, before her gaze settles above the fold:
Sunday Stories: “The Sad, Square Hands of Molly Jar”
The Sad, Square Hands of Molly Jar by Andrew F. Sullivan Molly Jar had her mother’s face, a valentine heart kissed with freckles on both cheeks. She had her grandma’s eyes from her father’s side, bright blue and full of ice. She had her Aunt Charlene’s hair, thick and black and tangled. She had skin so white it almost looked blue and three weeks of probation left when Sandra picked her up that afternoon and said we got a good […]
Sunday Stories: “You Should Write My Life Story”
You Should Write My Life Story by Kathryn Mockler Today had not started out as a good day for Christine. In the bathroom stall beside her, someone was throwing up. She started to gag. She felt warm salty saliva fill her mouth, and she had to run out of the washroom with her hand cupped over her lips to prevent herself from sympathy vomiting.
Sunday Stories: “Better Class”
Better Class by Erica L. Williams As kids, Regina and I always knew when Grandpa and Grandma Royce were planning a visit. According to Mom, the mark of a bad wife was a dirty house. So, whenever Mom hired a cleaning crew, I knew in the next week my daddy’s parents would arrive. The crew cleaned every crevice of the place, including the baseboards and windows. The house smelled of ammonia and Pine Sol days after they were gone.
Sunday Stories: “The Bulletpoints of Valley Pete”
The Bulletpoints of Valley Pete by Leland Cheuk Pete knows what the people in the office call him. Tool. Douche-bag. Sycophant. He’s heard it all before. As the head of global accounts, Pete is paid to ignore the prattle.
Sunday Stories: “To Telly, From Belleview, Colorado”
To Telly, From Belleview, Colorado by Devin Murphy Telly, You wouldn’t believe the dogs in this place. There’s a Great Pyrenees a few properties down that lumbers out of the foothills dragging coyotes with its jaws. Its nose is a patchwork of raised black scars. Along the stream shooting off the Cache la Poudre River, there’s a pack of dirt-field mutts that go howling around their horse pastures and wind cripple orchards, chasing after anything that moves. Scary at […]
Sunday Stories: “My Younger Self”
My Younger Self by Kaj Tanaka My younger self cleans up the house when the mood strikes him, which is rare, but when he does clean up, he does a good job. Usually, then, we celebrate his good work and we drink forty ounce bottles of malt liquor and we stay up late listening to my favorite music, which my younger self is only just now discovering. And we converse. I reminisce. I tell him about who we are and […]