Stories from
April, 2011

Wizened hands gently held the obsidian king. “It’s taken me years to carve them. Now how do you play chess?”

Eric Sisco writes fantasy and science fiction.

Finally, he spoke their father’s name into the mirror a third time. “Well,” said his sister, “I guess it only works with Bloody Mary.”

Tim Terhaar almost has a BA in philosophy. He wishes he believed in ghosts.

He runs, but from what he does not know. Is it from the man with the gun, or from the knowledge of what he’s done?

Craig P. runs a webserial at and enjoys playing dodgeball.

“Goodbye.” Touching a hand to her twin sister’s coffin, she left on the arm of her brother-in-law.

JC Chute is a freelance writer whose work has appeared in the Journal of Microliterature.

After the rockfall they crawled blindly, holding each other’s heels. At some point they realized there was no beginning or end to the line.

Susan Howe is a purveyor of short and even shorter stories. She lives in England.

“Phone me,” her note read. The linguist overlooked the space, was mildly confused, and let another opportunity slip away.

Ralph Morrison plays with numbers and words in Berkeley CA.

“Yeah. Well.” She hefted the rucksack. And raised her thumb. Again. “Your driving me? Crazy, too.”

Des Nnochiri is a freelance writer / screenwriter. Visit his website.

Jill put flowers in one of the marble vases. Her mom had loved violets. The vase on her father’s side held rainwater, sometimes dust.

Three years ago, Shelley Ontis couldn’t have imagined she’d ever say “Hey, I just tweeted!” without giggling and blushing.

He says, “Trust me. I love you.” Her heart says, “I do.”  Her fingers intertwine with his, covering the tan line on his third finger.

N. A. Lundeen lives, works and plays in Vienna, Austria.

Instantly he adds, “Forget I said that,” and endures a moment of agonizing hope until she says, “Okay.”

R. Gatwood is concise.