Stories

The Tilt-a-Whirl was shut down for repairs, so she didn’t get to touch her son that year.

R. Gatwood’s (@iwantanewhead) work has appeared in Per Contra, Monkeybicycle, and Vestal Review.

January morning. My mind’s not right. Still. The dark wind that came last night unfastened all of my hooks and latches, undoing me, still.

M.J. Iuppa lives on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario.

Once upon a time, Michelle’s creations had no choice but to live happily ever after.

David Galef writes early and often.

When my son received his diploma, everyone applauded except me. I just stared at my watch, horrified at the speed of the second hand.

Michael Jagunic lives almost entirely in Cleveland, Ohio.

Unsure which fork to use first, the escape artist put down his drink and loudly asked if anybody wanted to see the tablecloth trick.

Noel Sloboda applies himself to obscure arts, mostly in Pennsylvania.

A few years later, Cinderella tossed the broken slipper in the bin and rubbed her sore feet.

@FilipWiltgren is a game designing fabulist who occasionally wishes the word order was reversed.

We thought the disaster spelled the end for the country. But it turned out too many people wanted there to be such a thing as America.

Sean Vivier can be found at seanvivier.com.

I regret little: cutting my sister’s arm on accident; breaking Granny’s stained-glass; running over my neighbor’s cat; denying it all later.

Austin Eichelberger teaches English and writing in sunny, sprawling New Mexico and doesn’t regret a thing.

Airliner trails streaked the blue sky, impossibly high, flying to unknown lands. Ang kept her eyes on her field, not daring to dream.

@SimonKewin is the pseudonym used by an infinite number of monkeys who write from a secret location in the English countryside.

When you grabbed my arm and pushed me into the vestibule I wasn’t scared. It had been years since you’d touched me so deliberately.

Michael O’Neill is a fiction and poetry writer residing in Chicago.