Young Harold opened the door to his bedroom and was surprised to find Himself-Twenty-Odd-Years-Later sitting on his bed. He looked rough, as if he’d been gone over with old sandpaper and then beaten with sticks, and he was fiddling with… Continue Reading
From the Editors Our major news right now is a change in the editorial team at Every Day Fiction. We are sorry to lose Elissa Vann Struth as an editor at EDF; however, both Carol Clark and J.C. Towler have… Continue Reading
Play this podcast now: [audio:http://www.everydayfiction.com/stories/wp-content/uploads/EDF026_Picky.eaters.by_.sj_.higbee.mp3] Podcast EDF026: Picky Eaters written by SJ Higbee read by SJ Higbee “Picky Eaters” was originally published in EDF on February 18, 2009. S.J. Higbee lives on the south coast of England, where she divides… Continue Reading
The distance to be travelled is 1,106 kilometres; that will take you eleven hours and fourteen minutes in your Merc if you don’t ever stop for gas or food or sleep or prayer or anything else. But the right way… Continue Reading
Alan winced each time a kink surfaced in Jerry’s fifth birthday party, fearing he’d catch the heat of Maggie’s ire. He was innocent of the first problem; the rain ruined their scheduled activities at the new park, a square block… Continue Reading
A snowman was murdered last night. Tire tracks ran across the front lawn. This murder wasn’t on the 10 o’clock news or on the front page of the paper this morning. There wasn’t even a tiny blurb in the local… Continue Reading
He still has the taste of champagne in his mouth, this taste of apples cut with a rusty knife. His fingers are numb as they curl around the steering wheel, the smooth plastic steadying the slight tremor in his hands… Continue Reading
I’ve always thought elevators were magic rooms. Doors close on one place and, supernaturally, open on another. I’ve laughed, cried, sung, danced, kissed in an elevator. I met my love in this same car. Spent twelve years riding inside these… Continue Reading
Bill Hobinson stomped his feet against the cold, then grabbed a couple of milk pails and headed into the barn. “Good morning, my lovely belles,” he said. One of the cows mooed. He set an old wooden stool beside Sadie… Continue Reading
Bob Grebble is my section supervisor. He’s a bitter loser. Bob eats little cans of stew and reads gun magazines. Management squeezes Bob to increase production while they cut resources. How typical of this place. I figure management wants Bob… Continue Reading