Category: Fiction

The Death of Kelsey Moore

Fiction by Ryan Napier

PLANT CITY—Amid ongoing legal battles, Kayleigh Moore will give her first live, televised interview on The Oprah Winfrey Show Friday, more than a year after the disappearance of her daughter Kelsey made national headlines. The special episode will air tomorrow at 4pm on WFLA-TV Newschannel 8, the Tribune’s sister station.


Fiction by Rae Beatrice Nelson

I ran my hand down her ribcage that night. I counted the vertebrae in her spine, there were too many. Collarbones begged to be forced through, to give her some blood for her efforts there.

My Wakeup

The unit gets shipped from the base in Kuwait to Rhein Mein, from there to someplace in Ireland. I spend the flight from Ireland to Charlotte with my legs across the aisle onto the next row of seats. The stewardess doesn’t complain. I’m one of the few who don’t kiss the ground when we land. Another


Fiction by Melissa Chadburn

I heard the priest place his palm on the wooden shelf. He was waiting. I never did well with silences. I had to say something.

I smiled nervously and thought this is strange and funny but sort of sexy. Could be a great kinky sex scene with my new lover.

It was early evening at St. Augustin’s church in Boyle Heights, CA. A rehearsal for my secretary’s wedding. The jacaranda trees had left a light purple trail on the maroon carpeting that adorned the entrance. The wedding party sat in pews awaiting their turns to confess.

33 Fragments of Sick-Sad Living

Fiction by Brian Alan Ellis

Later you sat on your bed and, mesmerized by the intestinal goop she’d left for you, drank an entire bottle of wine, which is how much wine it took to even consider removing such remnants. Regardless, her mess had to go. So with moth-bitten Sisters of Mercy tour shirt in hand, you attacked, and were struck with the abrupt urge to taste the opaque puddle. (It didn’t smell; the alcohol had impaired your senses, either making you braver or stupider or both.) So you knelt down close—tongue outstretched—looking like some crazy person.

Neptune Frightens The Children

Fiction by Wythe Marschall

The order went: Rico said he saw it, then Jamie, then Jameel, Malika’s cousin who lived in Maspeth. Over the next month, they talked to each other about it—at Minny’s or the Hacienda or Jamie’s house—and confirmed the details, so they figured it must be true. For one, Rico never lied, not to them, not about paint, and for another, the yard was close to Queens, so it figured Jameel would’ve seen it—he was obsessed with geography, with the good walls and the spots no cops would drive by. They had all just found about this new yard, and Josie hadn’t gone yet. They all wanted to tell Josie about the problem right away, but it was just too hard, because Josie’s whole life revolved around paint. He was like the little ball-bearing inside the can that shakes up the paint, that lives forever in paint. He didn’t just write ZEUS—he was ZEUS.

Re: Margaret

by Maria DeLorenzo

The dream was scandalous. She is amazed at her own synapses, sprawling on that surface. It makes her blush. She deletes the dream. Empties the dumpster so no trace can be found of it. But of course there is a record kept somewhere in the master hard drive. Somebody is reading it. She imagines the mechanizations of the brain receiving; maybe her dream has an immediate effect on him. She imagines him, in some dark corner office, the daily toil, and then a flicker, his left eye glitches, he pauses the rapid filing and lingers a moment, imagining the exquisite brain responsible for the transmission. He shifts in his seat, his pants suddenly too tight. She sighs.

The Forest at Night

by Maria Romasco-Moore That night the moon was so bright we didn’t need a flashlight. It fell in bars across the path, cut by the trees into thin ghosts. By these we saw our way. We saw the path in…


by Jason Cook That Don Henley song is playing and all the guys at the bar in their navy pea coats with collars popped high up are cheering and ordering beer in bottles not on tap and the girls at…


by Jessica Bodford The cell was cold. It was always so, but as she stared out from behind her long bangs she wondered whether it was the darkness that seemed to bring with it yet another surge of icy misery.…

Camp Green Cove for Girls

Fiction by Julia Phillips

The old man’s dog kept barking. I called to Alex and we swam to each other and kissed, our mouths tasting like lake water. The dog swam over too and circled us… “Anya?” I called. She shouted, “This is the first really crazy thing I have ever done!”