Category: Prose
-
The Last Note of the Sea
by Sheema Kalbasi The girl had been watching The Little Mermaid when the first sound came. It was not thunder. It was the shriek of metal tearing through the air. The television flickered, then the electricity vanished. The room sank into silence. The cartoon ocean froze mid-motion, and Ariel’s song ended just before she reached…
-
Biscuits and Gravy
by Eve Odom Gravy. Beautiful, velvet, mushroom colored gravy, made from the grease of fried pork, and if you don’t have that Crisco will work in a pinch, sprinkled with flour, salt and pepper, and browned to just the right moment. Milk is then added and cooked down to a luxurious viscosity, not too thick,…
-
Abridged
by Maggie Carter A thick layer of fog clung to the surface of Crater Lake that morning. The ends of her ponytail curled as she trudged through the blue haze, kicking up sand with every step. She was only halfway to her destination, and this strange pilgrimage was made even stranger by the January cold.…
-
Intrusions
by Scott Garriott I come upon a familiar scene. New York, or an approximation that my mind can conjure. Leaves fall from the trees that surround me, their bones crunch underneath my boots. The air is crisp and clean, making itself known by the clouds that erupt from my lungs. A towering stone bridge lays…
-
In the Woods Somewhere
by Sabrina Canepa At first, I thought the smell could’ve been the week-old microwave dinner, something with corn and peas and brined liquid, stewing in the garbage. I thought it could’ve been the garbage in general, sitting next to the side gate, as it had for over a week. The city…
-
What Comes Up
by Angela Townsend Everyone is excited about the norovirus. Some people think it starts with negative thinking, or else it wouldn’t be called the “neuro virus.” Some people attribute their immunity to apple cider vinegar, misanthropy, or the Holy Ghost. Some people assume you have the stomach for an unabridged reading of their personal norovirus…
-
The List of Gruesome Places
by Mark Brazaitis As a journalist, my father had covered fires and floods. He’d covered bloody protests and a war in the Middle East. When, in February of 1991, he visited me in Guatemala, where I was working as a Peace Corps volunteer, he asked if we could visit the capital’s infamous basurero. He didn’t…