My BFF Molly

By Mary Senter

She opened her puffy eyes to see light streaming through a dirty aluminum framed window. It took her a minute to figure out where she was. Clothes piled on brown shag carpet. Thrift store furniture. She heard his throaty breathing and remembered. She slowly slid her legs from under the sheet, dangling them over the edge of the bed and carefully contorted her torso until she was on her belly, sliding her body off the edge of the bed until her knees touched the floor. The mattress springs creaked as she removed her weight, but he didn’t stir. His open mouth let out a low growl as he exhaled.  Continue reading

Author Profile: Kieron Walquist

How and when did you decide, or discover, that you were to be a writer?

Well, I don’t know if I’m a writer—I would say I’m more of a wannabe—but it’s always been my dream to write and tell stories.

What inspired you to write flash fiction?

I’m such a scatter-brain and procrastinator, so flash fiction is really all I’ve worked on because I’m able to stay with the story—I can see the light at the end of the tunnel much better than, say, a short story. Continue reading

The Blood Moon

By Kieron Walquist

In the black wax of midnight, she floats in the sky. Hungry for blood. Always starving.

We hunt for the moon, our mother. We lure boys and girls into the trees by a siren song too sweet to shake. Upon a stone altar, they die screaming. And under her frosty flame, we dance, naked but bathed in red, howling.

It’s the price we pay. For youth. For beauty. Continue reading

A Toll Road Apart

By Debra S. Levy

It was time to say good-bye. Much as Alison hated leave-takings, this was even worse; a few hours earlier they’d just said hello.

While their boyfriends talked directions and best routes, she and Davina stood in the driveway, silent for the first time all day. That afternoon they’d leaned over Davina’s kitchen table into the minutia of their respective lives, talking, talking.

Their friendship had begun years ago, in college. As roommates, they’d talked and laughed late into the night, telling stories, sharing dreams–the latter, they’d learned, were so jarringly alike as to be spooky. Then two weeks into the semester came the long-distance call; Alison’s mother was dying and she was needed at home. Continue reading

Rainy Night

By Robert Lackey

The litter-clogged drains overflowed onto the sidewalks. My left shoe let in the rain, soaking the shredded newspaper under my foot. I usually put my good sock on that foot when it’s wet out, but last night was mild. I still had my thin sock with the big-ass hole on my left foot.

Shit. Continue reading

Author Profile: Tamara Linden

How and when did you decide, or discover, that you were to be a writer?

I started writing stories almost as soon as I learned to hold a pencil, but I started writing “seriously” about two years ago when I started tutoring for a living. The flexibility of my job allows me to focus a lot more on writing, which we all know takes quite a lot of time and energy.  Continue reading

The Captive

By Tamara Linden

There’s food. They throw a few crusts of stale bread into the cage and laugh as we fight over them. A dirty, stubbled knee smashes into my face as I reach into the melee with one hand and shove aside a frail old woman with the other. My hand closes spasmodically around a small piece but, as I bring the prize to my lips, another girl tries to snatch it from me.  I jerk away and bite her grasping fingers, lips pulled back from my teeth. She glares at me and rubs her hand, like I’ve done something rude, like she has every right to my food. I glare back and chew as slowly as possible, both to make it last and to rub it in the thief’s face. I hope they sell her soon. She’s been a steadily growing pain in my ass for weeks now. Continue reading