Superpolynomial (The Problem with Salesmen) by Joshua Chaplinsky The Salesman stepped off the bus into the haze of the urban heat. He set his briefcase down on the concrete, its leather cracked and flaking, and produced a handkerchief to wipe his brow. Sweat subdued wisps of gray hair. He looked left then right and then left again, surveying the street signs as he tried to orient himself. He looked down at the slip of paper in his hand and frowned.
Sunday Stories: “The Last Kingdom in Astoria”
The Last Kingdom in Astoria by Gessy Alvarez I walk down Astoria Boulevard around six in the morning; the street is leading me to the chaos in front of the supermarket where I work. The lights in the neighborhood have been out for over twelve hours. I watch my moving reflection on the darkened storefront windows I pass. Back slumped forward. I look shorter than my six-foot frame. I look like a question mark. Greasy, black hair combed back – […]
Sunday Stories: “Anima”
Anima by Taylor Grieshober I’ve been having a rough go of it. Most days I feel like the woman from The Red Shoes, like at any moment I might dance off a roof. When it all began, my mom suggested I burn sage. “It’ll cleanse your spirit,” she said, and gave me a Ziplock bag of the stuff even though she knows I hate the smell. She’s excessive like that. Like when we went school shopping and I found a […]
Sunday Stories: “Rain Song”
Rain Song by Martha Anne Toll He was spinning in front of the mirrors, humming, when she arrived. “Katya Symanova.” He walked toward her and picked up her chin. “I missed you.” Bumping his forehead against hers, he put his hand on her buttocks and pulled her in. “It’s not the same, being away,” he whispered. As if he had left under duress. Traversed Europe against his will. Suffered himself to sleep with the Prima Ballerinas in a host of […]
Sunday Stories: “To Make Sure She Could Stop”
To Make Sure She Could Stop by Michael Don Did you hear about the woman who couldn’t stop sneezing? On her afternoon walk through the neighborhood while reading a thick and theoretical book, a ray of sun hit the back of her neck, traveled upward through her skull, across her brain and tickled her nose. Five doctors, two hypnotists, a visit to her parents’ home for roasted chicken and a rest in her childhood bed, one quarter of a church […]
Sunday Stories: “A Child of Gross Motivation”
A Child of Gross Motivation by Alex McElroy I attribute the tonguing of teeth to a day in the park with my mother. I was young, not yet five or recently five, and had climbed the steps that led to the top of a slide, a tunnel slide, plastic and poorly constructed, it bolts poking out like the heads of curious mushrooms waiting to puncture my back. On the platform at the top of the steps a boy a few […]
Sunday Stories: “Five Studies of Romulo as a Triceratops”
Five Studies of Romulo as a Triceratops by Patrick Benjamin 1. Romulo Working A sermonette on coordination sparking sparkling acclamation. Fifty-or-so sets of hands clapping. Candlight dying as the night grows up. One more quick galaxy before we carriage. Paperboys loiter impregnating the stage directions with disorienting tension. Torsion pops perverts’ hands from their wrists. Their night-toucher hands pyramid on the pavement as the weirdos wait for the pictureshow. The churchbells curse out a sanctimonious six o’clock. Cops talk about […]
Sunday Stories: “An Honest Reflection Serves No One”
An Honest Reflection Serves No One by Lasher Lane Standing at the Atlantic shoreline, holding hands with my dad, I looked to the horizon and asked, “If I could walk straight across the ocean, as far as possible, where would I end up?” Not even hesitating, he pointed to my tiny feet in the sand and answered, “Right back here.”