Stories from
April, 2009

Moon doesn’t know that millennia ago she shone like Sun. Now she thinks it’s pretty smart to steal from him the light that once was hers.

Ana Cristina Rodrigues is a Brazilian historian/writer/translator.

A foot fractures a puddle.
A spray prisms the sky,
falls back to earth to trail iridescence
around a yellow foot
it takes for the sun.

Cheryl Snell’s books include a novel and five collections of poetry, most recently Prisoner’s Dilemma.

They hug, and she turns away, hand reaching for the cab. He stares. Minutes later, eyes still stuck, his hand reaches out for something.

Harry John Shephard loves conversation and taking things very, very seriously. Follow @BeautifulMoment to read, share, or suggest a better name.

I should have turned off the machines. But he had insurance, and he was my father, and I wanted him to suffer just a little longer.

@Mari_Ness lives near an alligator infested lake in Central Florida. You can also follow her at her blog.

Pre: He came, he saw, he conquered. Post: He washed, he cooked, he cleaned.

Tanaz Bhathena is a Toronto-based freelance writer. She is currently working on a collection of short stories.

My burned son hides in the basement. My wife left the handle facing out; she stays upstairs. I’m in the living room, looking up then down.

David Erlewine (@daviderlewine) has work forthcoming or in Elimae, PicFic, Tuesday Shorts, Pedestal, & Monkeybicycle.

On Tuesday, he wears his suit to the cafe. Of course they’ll let him pay! Of course. Under the table, his wife accepts their wadded bills.

Jennifer Tatroe (@jhtatroe) lives in Seattle, where she makes up stories and complains about the rain.

Moldova: Stalin didn’t hate straw shoes—it was our melody and silence, Mama standing on her grave and how we all started singing one song.

Tovli Simiryan is an award winning writer/poet.  She lives with her husband, Yosif in WV.

Wearing purple shorts and huarache sandals, he mows his lawn in ever-smaller circles until he mows himself into the very smallest one.

Lauren Becker lives in Oakland, California.  She writes fiction and appreciates brevity.

A friend’s dying, brain cancer. Waiting. Witnessing. Why can’t we all pass in our sleep? Meanwhile, he’s going and we’re staying, for now.

Ethel Rohan received her MFA in fiction from Mills College, CA. Her blog is