A hemorrhage of maple trees blots the horizon. Everywhere, sunlight sweet-talks the edges of things: the purple wheels of aster, a gutted shopping cart. You embrace her in the covered bridge. Under…

You latch on hard, quick, for your nightly feeding. P tries to distract me while he brushes his teeth. Pokes fun at my dramatics. “Finally putting that theatre degree to use,” he says as he creases…

Cacti growing in the bowling alley. Honky-tonk playing on a PA system that’s so weak it sounds like the music is coming from some distant shore. All this set amongst sunshine of drifting dust. A ma…

There’s a very small woman who lives in my ductwork. I’ve seen her bright pinprick eyes between the vent panels tracking me as I do Youtube yoga in my living room. I pretend I don’t see her. For he…

My husband is building a spacecraft in our garage. An actual spacecraft from RYMDFARTYG, IKEA’s troubled cousin. Seventeen flat-pack boxes. 847 steps. The neighbor’s dog won’t stop barking at it. S…

She came childless. Amongst our clutter on the concrete bench, she sat with her designer tote bag. A blue shark hooded towel and a rainbow bottle peeked out. We watched her watch the pool, the skin…

Our parents didn’t believe in the Easter bunny. They said it wasn’t the real story. And instead of us kids chowing down on chocolate eggs we were in the chook shed grading the real ones. Pick…

Welcome to this special guest-edited issue, featuring flash recommendations by Patricia Q. Bidar! Patricia is a longtime friend and a consummate writer, from flash to novelettes. Her collection, Pa…

Our parents didn’t believe in the Easter bunny. They said it wasn’t the real story. And instead of us kids chowing down on chocolate eggs we were in the chook shed grading the real ones. Pick…

Our first place is near the airport. We sit on the balcony some evenings and watch the planes rip into the sky. The space fits two folding chairs so close our knees touch. Flying makes me anxious b…

On Friday I’ll move. On Saturday I’ll get a new job. On Sunday I’ll find a new husband. On Monday I’ll move. On Tuesday I’ll get another job. On Wednesday I’ll decide I don’t want a husband. On Thu…

I wait until the last possible second to bother him about the splinter. He needs his rest, and my discomfort is so trivial. But it is wedged in my heel, a place where I can’t contort my body …

After our results came back, we took a spliff down to the beach to wait for the blood moon, but it was cloudy so all that happened was a hellish glow and some ratcheting paranoia. I was already in …

Rosie Finger talked about nature versus nurture, about which one decides the course we take through life. She thought they played equal roles, that the way we were raised and the parts we were born…

Is this the real life? Is it Urban Fantasy? The thing with this story is that it is written in the future tense, and when you couple that with its title, the whole thing gives a sense of a thorough…

After our results came back, we took a spliff down to the beach to wait for the blood moon, but it was cloudy so all that happened was a hellish glow and some ratcheting paranoia. I was already in …

The goldfinch hit the kitchen window with a knock so dull and hollow we thought, briefly, that someone had come to the door. We went out. The bird was on the patio brick, lying on its side, its yel…

Some refer to my death as a certainty, using words like remembrance and memoriam. Others talk about me like I’m still here, chumming around at my old home bar, The Spokenfore. My buddy Elliot buys …

The North Platte River was nearly dry, long sand banks exposed. She watched a guy in a Funyuns T-shirt eating Cheetos gas up his Penske. Passing a semi, her husband pointed at the words Isaiah 50:3…

Alt: Four old-timey ghosts playing musical instruments

After the divorce, the first one appeared between the salad forks. I had opened the cutlery drawer looking for something ordinary to do with my hands. It was late. The kitchen light was the wrong k…

The North Platte River was nearly dry, long sand banks exposed. She watched a guy in a Funyuns T-shirt eating Cheetos gas up his Penske. Passing a semi, her husband pointed at the words Isaiah 50:3…

The North Platte River was nearly dry, long sand banks exposed. She watched a guy in a Funyuns T-shirt eating Cheetos gas up his Penske. Passing a semi, her husband pointed at the words Isaiah 50:3…

The North Platte River was nearly dry, long sand banks exposed. She watched a guy in a Funyuns T-shirt eating Cheetos gas up his Penske. Passing a semi, her husband pointed at the words Isaiah 50:3…