• Fiction,  Short Story

    Chuy and Friends by Daniel Rahe

    It was clear the instant they drove into the campground that this would not be the kind of camping adventure warmly recalled years later. The site itself was faultless — a shady valley divided by a creek that emptied into a mountain lake. For the two young couples crammed into a Subaru that would still smell like a new car if not for the can of beer that had spilled on the carpet, who had driven across the entirety of a state to be here, a dream was about to be dashed. And what a beautiful dream: old friends huddled beside a popping-hot fire under the stars, drinking from a…

  • Memoir

    Green River Thriller (part of a memoir) By Aaron Flett

    I lived next door to the Green River Killer, and eventually befriended him, so I could turn him in for the reward. He was actually a nice guy, albeit a little strange. As a kid growing up in the early eighties and living very near the Sea-Tac strip where most of the murders took place, I worried the Green River Killer would kill me, but my mother told me he only targeted women, and I had nothing to be afraid of. I was safe, but I still had concerns like: what about my mom? She dropped me off at the Lewis and Clark Bowling Alley every Saturday morning for youth…

  • Fiction,  Short Story

    Surrender by Dawn Ellis

    “I got a DUI a year or so ago. Anyone can get one. Do you mind driving?” he asks, charmingly, hopping in the passenger seat. “Sure,” I say, honored. “Use those side mirrors. You don’t need to turn and look,” he coaches me along the highway. “Oh, okay,” I answer, eager to please. “You don’t have to turn on your blinker when you’re already in a turn lane.” Grateful for the lesson, I say, “I never knew that.” “Pull into that spot, right in front.” “I’m not very good at parallel parking,” I apologize. “And the spot looks kind of small.” “Hey, let me do this, so we can get…

  • Fantasy, Sci-fi,  Fiction,  Short Story

    Nuclear Strawberries by Martin Chase

    As he shuffled ever-so slowly through the various avenues formed by these toxic, stinking ziggurats, his eyes swished about and mentally picked at appealing morsels of charcoal-smelling, singed rifle barrels, giant, radioactive roach talons with the look and smell of overcooked intestine, grossly-priced tablets that shot off hostile, acerbic-odored volleys of electric mercury, and the occasional, blackened skull or three, some clad in scalded, rubber masks, others laid bare and gloomily grimacing sans jaws. But in the midst of his last-minute window-shopping, the soldier’s ears captured the dull echo of an aching moan to his left. Turning towards the object of interest, the soldier gazed upon the thing it had…

  • Fiction,  Short Story

    Silver by Christian Carvajal

    In those days, the year of our Lord Jesus Christ one thousand seven hundred and eighty-seven, Paris was a city abuzz with death. It buzzed as a topic of conversation: in the private apartments of His Majesty King Louis XVI at Versailles; in the salons of nobles (who fretted, too, about the aroma of revolution in the air); and in taverns, soon to be called bistrots, in which lesser men shouted and sang around mouthfuls of veal. It buzzed in the clouds of pernicious insects thickening the air over churchyard cemeteries. And it buzzed in the streets, as soldiers, executioners, and laborers made use of what few livres they earned,…

  • Memoir,  Novel Excerpt

    Coming Down The Mountain, Excerpt from the forthcoming book, THE HERMIT by Gabriel Roberts

    My poor bike was covered in ice for days on end and it took some time for it to warm up.  I had moved it before the first snow into a shelter that was being used to dry out the weed.  Before I could even get to the road, I would have to travel three quarters of a mile through foot deep untouched snow up a hill.  Trying to do this with my motorcycle alone, packed with a fully loaded bike and 50 lb backpack was simply impossible.  My boss pulled their quad up to my bike and wrapped a car towing strap around the front forks of my bike. …

  • Fiction,  Short Story

    Riviera Jet Lag Party by Joshua Swainston

    The story takes place on July 2nd 2000 “Why do you want to sleep? You slept on the train,” Claire said, exiting the Sephora boutique. “I’m tired. What do you want me to do?” Adam tailed behind. They had been shopping their way through Nice, France since they arrived that morning. “I want you to come with me. We’re going to meet up with Alice and Sonia for dinner.” “I’m sure you would have a much more fun without me sleeping through the meal.” “We’re only in Nice two days and you want to sleep. When we were planning this trip, you insisted we see the French Riviera. You said…

  • Fiction,  Short Story

    The Music Lesson by Alec Clayton

    As first dates go, this one was outstanding. She had the biggest eyes he had ever seen, and deep dimples. He loved dimples. The meal was enjoyable and not too heavy. He was confident that he came across as witty and sincere.  When he took her home she invited him up for a drink. They sat side-by-side on the couch, she with her feet tucked yoga style. At last he worked up the nerve to kiss her and she responded, if not passionately at least firmly. Deciding not to pussyfoot around, he reached between her legs. ”No,” she said, pulling his hand away. “No? Not gonna happen?” “Nope. Sorry. Not…

  • Fantasy, Sci-fi,  Novel Excerpt

    One of Time, an excerpt for a work in progress by William Turbyfill

    “I guess we’ll have to have class indoors then.” This was not the first time Professor Clifford Barrow made this joke but his students laughed just the same. Despite his tendency to be a bit of a recluse and his inability to make a good joke, Professor Barrow was well respected. Some of his students even liked him. The class room was bright which stood in stark contrast to the rain and darkness outside. Before Clifford arrived on the planet, he did not realize that when they say it always rains on Ravis, they mean it always rains on Ravis. The sun never broke through the constant rainstorm and the…

  • Memoir,  Short Story

    Fly on the Wall by Rockford Rowley

    Most people we encounter don’t understand us. They merely occupy the relatively fleeting, disposable roles in our lives we inadvertently have but seldom gain insight from. But we can hope. We can hope to be understood. We can hope to find people who perceive our personality exactly the way we so carefully present it. There are a lucky few who find people who perceive it exactly the way they intended. As if they’ve been an un-perceivable fly on the wall your entire life, carefully observing you, only to be miraculously transformed into a human being the moment before meeting you. And on one unsuspecting evening last summer I felt like…