Short stories

by Robert Lowinger I was in the seventh grade, in 1969, living in a little town outside of Buffalo, New York when me and Danny Nissen, who was almost 15, threatened to beat the crap out of Larry McKoon for telling Danny that he wasn’t good at basketball, and he should get booted off the team. Well, Danny said, “Jimmy, you got to be a man and not let anyone diss your friends, certainly not a little prick like Larry,” and ever since Danny killed that cat with a knife behind the

by Sara Etgen-Baker "You gotta have a ticket to ride!” snapped the Carney. “Get a ticket or move outta da way, kid. You’re takin’ up space!” I stared motionless as the Ferris wheel cut through the heavy summer clouds. “Here’s her ticket, sir. We three are ridin’ together.” “Not happenin’ lady—only two per chair. One of youz has to ride by yerself.” “No problem! She’s the oldest; she’ll ride by herself.” “Whatever ya say, lady. She seems a bit scared to me though.” “Your broth

Sara Etgen-Baker After Granny died, Mother requested only one item from her mother’s possessions. “All I really want,” Mother told my uncle, “are her old recipe cards and antique file box.” Mother’s request puzzled me, for I knew Mother didn’t need the recipe cards and file box for any practical reason. She’d known for decades how to make Granny’s pumpernickel bread, sauerkraut, and her breakfast specialty—streusel kuchen. But when the file box arrived a few days later, Mothe

by Sara Etgen-Baker I stepped off the back porch and approached Fritz’ house which was nestled beneath his favorite spot under the shade of my family’s sprawling pecan tree. Using our shared German language, I commanded Fritz to dinner: “Fritz! Kommen Sie hier—Abendessen!” Yet, Fritz didn’t come when called to dinner. I knelt down; peered inside his doghouse; caught a glimpse of his shiny dark little nose; and found him snuggled in the back corner of his doghouse, shivering

by Ashley Mangtani I sit in his chair, and it still holds his shape. The little arrow drifts across the screen and settles on a folder. I open it. Inside the folder is one file. I lean forward until my forehead is almost touching the glass. The letters are too small for me to read all at once, and I read them one at a time. [ Lila.exe ] I press once, and the file opens into a room. The afternoon is gold in the window behind her. A woman sits at a table, looking up as thou

by Huina Zheng While looking for the household registration booklet, I found a White Rabbit candy tucked into the deepest corner of a drawer. The wrapper was yellowed, oil seeping through the paper until it turned greasy and half transparent. Thirty years later, my wife still had not forgotten our youngest daughter, the one who died before we had time to give her a name. My wife had carried her for nine months. I understood why. Making enough money to feed the family was the

by Kenneth Kapp “Honest, Mom, they were just being nice to me. You said yourself how nice their garden was. And we’re always getting those seed packages in school, two cents each, and if we could grow our own veggies, think of the money we’d save.” Rose turned and strode to the sink, counting to ten. She squeezed the countertop and spit into the sink, muttering, “This for Tzar Nicholas, mamzers (bastards) kidnapped Uncle Pichus.” Rose’s mother was continually ranting on in Yi

by Kenneth Kapp In Long Beach there were days in October when the ocean pretended that no one was looking, sending waves one after another to crash into the shore. Running smoothly, they unfurled their crests from one rock jetty to the next. The inshore wind blew foam on ahead from the wave’s white crowns whispering, “Run along the packed sand until you sweat, then jump in and ride the waves back until your lips are blue and hands clenched in fists from the cold.” One year yo