The Grass – by JEFFREY ZABLE

The grass is always browner on your side of the street in which you peer though a blind in your front window onto a street of angry people who resent that you’re still alive and won’t give them your house so they no longer have to pay rent in a city that doesn’t care. The…

Whistling in the Dark – by SUSAN C. INGRAM

Whistling in the Dark Susan C. Ingram   I walk the labyrinth[1] today. Shining white path in a field of green. A green not so green as grass but more like a blue-green sea. Shining white path on a blue-green sea. The sea, its color, its infinite rhythm. I used to go to the sea…

The Futility of Individuality – by MICHAEL MARROTTI

The Futility Of Individuality Maybe I should cut my hair to accommodate the American standard Remove my tattoos and pick a political party I’m sure that’ll make a difference Get a pair of sneaks that cost more than forty dollars Speak like they speak Do as they do Discard my sense of logic to fully…

The Value of Change – by DOMINGO CARRION

The Value of Change   “Youngin!” I heard a voice call out to me. “Hey, youngin!” he called out again, in a raspy voice. I decided to turn around. The man was a tad taller than me, with a lanky frame. His eyes were dark brown and wide open, like a lemur who’s been surprised….

Sleeping Beauty – by MELISSA LIBBEY

Sleeping Beauty   The house is a war zone; minefields of clothing piles on the floor. Food left on the table, gathering flies. The smell reminds me of the town-dump. When we would drive past, I’d have to roll up my windows just to stop my eyes from watering. She takes off my jacket and…

King of Hearts – by SEBNEM SANDERS (S.E. SANDERS)

King of Hearts Annoyed with the dismal news on the television, Joe grabbed the remote and switched it off. Tapping his fingers on the table of the hospital bed, he pondered on what to do next. Time warped and stretched infinitely in the ward, as various illnesses spread inside the bodies of the patients at…

Purgatory – by SARA CODAIR

Purgatory By Sara Codair I’ve been climbing forever; higher and higher, never stopping. My muscles scream for rest, but my feet keep pounding their funeral beat on the thin steel steps. It’s a song of revenge and repentance, of a life wasted by greed. When I was a child, I used to chase Elsie Cole…

The Tale of the Costume Maker – by STEVE CARR

  THE TALE OF THE COSTUME MAKER  by Steve Carr   His fingers are long and slender, pale as chalk dust, thin as icicles hanging from the bare branches of a dying bush. They move with certainty and speed as if they possess a life of their own, making stitch after stitch, sewing on endless…

Passing Through – by JAYNE MARTIN

Passing Through     The scraggly, brown mutt watched for me every morning as I trudged through the long-abandoned pecan orchard off to another day at Hattie’s Grill to serve up folks on their way to anywhere but here. Never got any closer than a few feet, but I knew she was there, ready to…

The Submariner – by STEPHEN COOPER

The Submariner by Stephen Cooper   It was just a watch. He had to forget about it. Stop ruminating about what’d happened and move on with his damn life already. But he couldn’t. Because each time he passed the storefront to get to his apartment he’d see that damn Sylvio.   He tried not looking,…

Hands – by RICHARD GREEN

Hands   My grandfather’s hands lived for sixty odd years. They had no forced smile behind which to hide their pain. Cracked, calloused and stained with blood and tears. Black, coal dust roadmaps replacing sunken veins. I held his weathered hand just once in my childhood years, reflecting on the residue of soot and tobacco…