Sunday Stories: “Bastard Child”


Bastard Child
by Derek Andersen

Perseus Andreas
Brand Specialist

I still remember the pounding of the rain, the howling of the wind, the white-hot flash of lightning that seared through the night as I breathed life into my creation. While my wife slumbered in the other room, I alone bore witness to the birth. A tear ran down my cheek as I crooned its name, those two honey-soaked syllables: Ella. It wasn’t until later that I realized my spawn was a bastard, an abomination. A plague upon humanity.   

Continue Reading

Sunday Stories: “Deep Blue”


Deep Blue
by Martha Anne Toll

1963. Katya detoured to St. Patrick’s Cathedral before ballet company class. Not to attend Mass—she didn’t need to mouth words and hymns that punctuated her childhood—but for sanctuary and anonymity.    

Genuflecting before she started down the great center aisle, Katya took a pew on the left toward the altar, where she could avoid Fifth Avenue’s street noise and bathe in the rainbow of colors refracted through rows of stained-glass windows. She felt alone in the cavernous space, less a child of her parents than an autonomous woman. St. Patrick’s bore no resemblance to the small parish church of her childhood. It wasn’t Mama that Katya recalled from church, it was Mama’s absence, her early death, as much a part Sundays as the colorless windows over the pews.

Continue Reading

Sunday Stories: “No Logical Explanation”

question marks

No Logical Explanation
by Lana Schwartz

There is no logical explanation for why Im like this,you tell Mark in between bites of baby quiche. That you hate broccoli but you love it in your egg-based meals: Quiches, omelets, the more broccoli, the better. 

He smiles at you and laughs, a small laugh that punctuates the end of his smile like an exclamation point. 

Continue Reading

Sunday Stories: “How to Write About Stillness”


How to Write About Stillness
by John Miguel Shakespear

First: wake up, check your socials, and hit snooze. Wake up again ten minutes later; hit snooze again. Now haul yourself out of bed. You better stretch, bucko. Today’s the day you’re going to write an essay about stillness. 

Look, it’s right there in your Google calendar: “Consider benefits of stillness and introspection, September 4, 8 a.m.-5p.m.” 

It’s 8:37 a.m. Already behind. 

Continue Reading

Sunday Stories: “Cape Cod Grandpa 1968”


Cape Cod Grandpa 1968
by Alice Kaltman

He can be Grandpa. I need a grandpa.

A horseshoe crab that has seen things, done things. Still living a long horseshoe crabby life. Ginormous. Crusty with barnacles and tiny mussels. Experienced. I already have a whole slew of his dead relatives lined up in size order outside the crappy shack my human family has rented for two weeks. Mother Crab, Father Crab, Big Kid Crab, Middle Kid Crab, Little Kid Crab. My Horseshoe Crab Family. They smell like rancid salted putrid dry cracked brittleness, but my human parents support my ten year old imagination, or maybe they’re just fed up with me, their dreamy son, so they let the mini-monsters lay there, baking in the sun on the splintery deck, stinking up our beach vacation. 

Continue Reading

Sunday Stories: “Toxicity Report”


Toxicity Report
by Vic Sizemore

Two years after Oxy shut down Mom’s lungs forever, my stepdad Cecil called and asked if I would come and care for him while the coalmine finished killing him off. He’d managed to avoid suffocation down in Patriot Coal’s number seven, but the coal had collected slowly, a breath at a time, like silt in a creek bed. Now it was smothering him from inside. I knew he was bad off because all the pride he’d had to swallow to make the call, to speak up when he heard my voice say hello; we’d had our differences, almost come to blows more than once.

Continue Reading

Sunday Stories: “Frog”


by K. W. Holland

As far as frogs go, it’s pretty big. Like the size of my fist if I used it to punch a brick wall. Swollen. 

“Jimmy?” it croaks. Jimmy is my name. It wants me to pick it up. “Jimmy?”

From its mouth, my name sounds like something bubbling out of a swamp. 

Continue Reading