Fiction
by Joan Leegant.
“The surgeon came into the O.R. chewing gum. This was how we knew there’d be a problem. God have mercy, we mutter under our breaths…”
by Hollis Seamon.
“I shit you not. Right in front of the elevator that spits you into our hospice, there is—get ready for this—a harpist. I mean, isn’t that like a teensy bit premature?”
Kathi Hansen
“We’re not saying our boys are angels, … we’re just saying that we the mothers didn’t need to teach our boys not to rape.”
by Pat Tompkins.
“It was a shame anyone had to go to Carville, a pity there was no cure, but Gar had been to war and knew how little fairness had to do with anything.”
by Daniela Garvue.
“After he brushed his teeth, he raised his wings in the bathroom to examine his smoky gray underfeathers.”
by Lauren Green.
“When the bell finally rings, waste no time. Grab your Kipling from the cubby and head straight to the front of the carpool line.”
by Carter Sickels.
“We were out of heroin and broke. Didn’t have pills. Nothing to drink or huff. “I’ve got a plan,’ I said.”
by Rhonda Browning White.
“We hadn’t talked since we left our West Virginia homeplace over two hours ago, both of us teary-eyed…”
by Azin Neishaboori.
“It was around noon on a spring day in the month of May when Ms. Abedi appeared at the intersection of Shahrara and Sattar Khan Streets on the west side of Tehran.”