Short stories

by James Callan She rose from her ocean bed, roused from the dark by her need to breathe. Like stars, like Cetus in the night sky, she brought light to the world off the glint of her back. She was silver in the moonlight, the surf churning pearls, a rich foam and salted spray that stirred the lookouts from the masthead. Larboard, starboard, rise ye sleepers and roustabouts! Leeward! Captain Pollard cried. Leviathan! Thar she blows! Breaching the horizon, the sun raked the sea

by Owen Townend Winter’s early dark and sudden chill often sets me in search of comfort. Familiar ground for better or worse. That December night brought me to the tired town of Feldon, one of four places I grew up in. For a little over a year in my mid-teens, Feldon was home and a happy one. I had friends who led me through its streets, just watching the comings and goings of everybody else. We always ended up at the car park of the local wine bar, Your Excellent Sherris. A

by Elissa Hunter Rebecca can tell Mickey’s a douchebag from the moment he introduces himself. Not just because he goes by Mickey instead of Mike or Michael or even Mikey. He’s also wearing too much cologne and has an unfortunate soul patch that looks like a bunch of blond pubes glued to his chin. Normally, even in her most desperate of dry spells, Rebecca would have run as soon as she saw him coming. But here they are, at a holiday party in a too-small apartment in Brooklyn,

by Christopher Dabrowksi Something rattled and fell, raising a billowing cloud of black dust. I was sure it was a burglar, but... it's Christmas, maybe it's Santa Claus. However, it wasn't him, even though the characteristic colors, hat, and gift bag matched. It was a stunning woman instead—yes, a little soot-stained and coughing because she had inhaled it, but even without that, her beauty knocked me out. "Hey, I am Snowflake" she finally spoke up. "I'm a Santa substitute. H

by Fran Schumer Rachel and her mother, Sarah, are sitting in the living room of Rachel’s parents’ apartment. Light floods the apartment, which is on the 31st Floor. A golf course and beyond it, a carpet of green. No people. No noise. Perhaps her parents are preparing for the next stage: heaven. Rachel’s father is asleep in his remotely operated Lift chair, when her mother, turning toward Rachel, comes out with this: “I never really understood you.” Rachel is surprised. Consid

by E.C. Traganas “Go and feed the hens,” my Thea Popi bids, “and fetch me a couple of eggs.” There is a faint lazy clucking in the chicken coop across the stone walkway. The late morning sun is burning overhead. Suffocating warmth envelops me like a brick oven. I watch where I tread. The ancient pavers are well-worn and slippery; the angle is steep. One misstep and I am sliding down a perilous slope towards the village square. With plastic tote in hand, I maneuver the jagged

by Susan Duffield-Lodge From the moment our eyes met I knew in my heart that he was the one. I’d never been a believer in love at first sight. Until now. Destiny can be funny like that; sneaking up on you when you least expect it—one of those magical, memorable moments when love gently taps you on the shoulder. I was immediately transfixed by the sheer beauty and magnificence of him as he began slowly ambling toward me. I found myself assessing his physical bearing from afar—

by Anne M. Carson His cat is both alive, hovering at the moment of simultaneity, and also dead. The cartoon vet puts a sympathetic hand on the client’s shoulder, says, “About your cat Mr Schrödinger, I have good news and bad news.” My cat wasn’t dead and alive, but in two places at once, almost a Schrödinger cat. One version of Charlie was hiding from the new cat sitter, safe in the cupboard at home. The other was in hospital comforting me. Doped up with opiods, my calves wra