It has occurred to me that in these final days of my life, with no spouse or heir to wait at my bedside for my final breath, that I should preserve in writing the few defining moments of my mediocre time on this Earth. While I doubt that anyone will be interested enough to read these entries, it seems wrong that one should pass from this plane of existence without leaving something behind. Unfortunately, as I reflect on my mundane existence, I realize that each defining moment is somehow connected to my late “friend” (for he would, until the end, recognize me as such, though I could not reciprocate the sentiment) Howard Foreman.
Category: Fiction
Partners by DL Shirey
He took the name Desmond this time. It sounded nice as he said it out loud. He repeated the name, trying to commit it to memory.
“What’d you say?” his partner muttered; words slurred.
“Nothing,” Desmond said in the language both knew. Then he made the mistake of letting slip his partner’s real name. It sounded as foreign as any other word in their tongue and Desmond was pretty sure no one in Albuquerque spoke it. Nonetheless, it was against the rules and Desmond received a sharp elbow for the error.
How to Bear It by Audrey Alt
Esme wakes to the slamming of the front door and panics. Each night, she goes to bed after Nathaniel and, each morning, tries to ensure she gets up before him—in case she needs to dispose of leftovers, though usually she doesn’t. But today, after she scrambles down the stairs and rounds the corner, tripping on a throw rug as she does, she finds, as expected, as feared, that Nathaniel has beaten her outside. Worse, he’s on the driveway poking at her piles with a stick. She watches from the window, and when he notices her, he goes back inside.
“Why is there food out there?” he asks gently while also assuming her guilt. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, only partly in jest, as he goes down the hallway to get the broom and dustpan. “Let me guess. You’re feeding wild animals again.”
The Princess of Asmodee by Geoffrey Marshall
Cruisin’ down the road in her car — a pale blue slug slaloming along the blacktop sine wave. We head towards the gigantic red sun that swallows half the sky. Her hands are on the wheel, the polychromatic luster of her enameled nails keeps catching my eye. The windows are rolled down and her chin-length caramel hair is wild in the cool wind.
She has on an oversized off-the-shoulder cable knit sweater —her deeply tanned shoulders contrast against the ivory fabric. A huge pair of Gucci tortoise shell sunglasses with gradient tinted lenses obscure her eyes. She smiles and sings along with the radio to a song that doesn’t matter, except in this moment.
All I smell is ocean.
Takeda by Christopher A. Walker
From the plane window, Tokyo yawns gray and endless. At this altitude, it all seems still, like a diorama. Despite the serenity of this quiet scene, I can’t shake this twinge of panic that haunts me every time I get on a plane.
It’s been some time since I was last in Japan. One day I’d like to visit without any interviews, no all-nighters spent hammering out a first draft, counting the difference between JST and PST on my fingers like a nervous tic. Among Tokyo’s millions, I hope to find one man. A man who doesn’t know I exist, but whose work and the questions it leaves unanswered have shaped the course of my life indelibly. I need to ask him how he made something that shouldn’t be possible.
The only problem is that Yusei Takeda disappeared twenty-three years ago.
Like Two Bottlecaps Inside a Pellucid Head by Zoe Davis
Hello.
I have a problem.
And that problem is
that I
am cursed.
I Found a Dead Body! by Robert Welbourn
I found a dead body!
I can’t believe it, I’m so happy. You read about these things, see them on the news, but you never think it’ll happen to you. I began to think it never would happen to me, and began to wonder why I even got a fucking dog in the first place. But now I remember why!
What a wonderful, glorious day!
Loser by Riley Passmore
Jeffrey Rhodes, the actual quarterback for the Detroit Lions, punches me in the face with everything he goddamn has, and I puke all over my Levi’s. I mean, he really lets me have it. By the time he pulls away his fist, I see stars and the face of God.
“How do you do it?” he snarls, his fist held high for another blow. He’s tied me to a folding chair, and has my collar wrenched up in his other hand. He’s angrier than Bigfoot.
Secrets by Lori D’Angelo
The blood drinking would not begin till after midnight, which was good because it gave Daphne time to prepare.
They say that your first experience is unforgettable, a gateway to everything else.
Daphne was 14, so she was old enough to participate if she wanted to. But she could also choose to wait.
“You don’t want to rush it,” Serafina had told her.
Serafina was older and a prefect and the only other girl from Daphne’s depressed farming town, so, by default, they were best friends.