Stories from
April, 2012

As the kitchen curtains ignite, the man in the living room types “smelling smoke” and skims a list. Seizure. Stroke. Tumor. Sinus infection.

R. Gatwood is concise.

The scent of carpet was so reminiscent of Dr. Li’s waiting room that, in remembering my frequent visits, I almost forgot I was dead.

Lau Lioi lives in New Jersey. She is Argentine, not Asian. She studies architecture and reads like it’s her job. If only it were.

With closed eyes, she sat on. All would change to dull reality if they opened, so she put his hookah into her mouth and began smoking again.

Chad Greene teaches children’s literature.

They met on a cruise, married days later. He hardly knew her but that was the appeal. She got ill soon after the honeymoon. Prostate cancer.

@EricBoydtweets writes a lot for different things.

I guess I agreed to have sex with her because that is what adults do, they have sex. And at twenty-five I wanted to feel like an adult.

Lacy Lalonde drinks tea and writes fiction.

Sometimes, we forget children are fragile.

Olivia Rich (@OliviaRich4) tries this writing technique from her creative writing elective.

It’s strange. Ever since the whole of humanity fled to the suburbs, the giant monsters have yet to attack us.

Sean Vivier calls this one “Suburban Flight.”

I flew west the day the papers went final. Sky at my shoulders, free country below. A vandalized plane sign: “life vAst under your seat.”

Matthew Fogarty is compiling a playlist for the drive home.

An infinite number of universes necessarily exist. God did not create them. God jobbed out the boring bits and called them Heaven.

Meika no longer writes for humans.

This was the part of the job she hated. She knocked, then waited on the doorstep for the parents to answer. A heavy rain began to fall.

@SimonKewin writes this and that. Sometimes other words too.