Fiction

First came the propeller, smashing through her awning. It squashed the zucchini, severed tomatoes from their vines. She freed the chunk of wood and aluminum from her freshly tilled soil, refashioned it into an enormous lazy Susan that spun across her lawn, its slowly...

The Husband He returns to the thatched-roofed huts and road-carved forests of his village. He was only sixteen when he departed, a bag of tattered shirts in tow. The whisperers said the city would consume him--only fools chase after happy endings. Now, glass...

The 15 Lists to Add to Your Apocalypse Bullet Journal 1. Possible sperm donors for repopulating the earth. 2. Locations of running water. You know for drinking, cooking, and maybe a bath if you are lucky. 3. Remember the times you swam in the ocean and how much you...

In a cynical display of toxic self-interest, Larry had formed a group called Save Our Parks. Its goal was to keep the city from selling a weed-choked lot for affordable housing. When I read about it in the paper, I jump up from my recliner and throw the paper down and...

I lay on the bed. Theirs still. At least, Jackie’s. I got comfortable. Took out old Jumbo. Who would dare cut you, I said. She saw me and fled. The plane shuddered. My wife knocked, asked if I’d gotten lost. I came out and sat in my seat. We watched the same oil rig...

The birthing suite is expansive. Like a hotel lobby where they serve breakfast, but with all the tables and chairs taken out. The framed photos on the wall are the same, but in place of railroads and highway signs are flowers and points of light. They haven’t given me...

The inventory: Twelve packets of Silken Touch wet wipes. Ordered online for the Goa trip and delivered within twelve hours by a delivery boy who thoughtfully placed a call over intercom before ringing the doorbell of the Singh residence, then handed the parcel to Mrs...

I recognize the sequence, it’s from a show I used to watch in the middle of the night until I’d watched every episode at least three times. The animated gif soundlessly depicts a mostly toothless man, mouth wide open, crying like the dickens. The look in his eyes says...

Just think, he says, me, a part of history. And you do. You think about your husband as an inanimate man. You wonder if that’s how he feels about you, about your marriage. If this dream—that’s what you choose to call it—was inspired by something left unfulfilled by...