PUDGE • by Chelsea Tudor
Three bucks and a box of Red Hots. That was all it took to get me to flash the fifth grade boys’ soccer team. It seemed like a funny thing to do at the time — I’m not sure why.… Continue Reading
Three bucks and a box of Red Hots. That was all it took to get me to flash the fifth grade boys’ soccer team. It seemed like a funny thing to do at the time — I’m not sure why.… Continue Reading
The imp, Dracos, knelt before the throne. “Master!” With a sigh, the recumbent demi-god raised one of his heavy eyelids. “What now?” “They seek direction, oh Lord.” “Who does?” “The Thinkers on Math.” The demi-god shuddered. “Perverse creatures! What do… Continue Reading
Hernandez, the name, is not hers. It belongs to Carlos. She’s been meaning to change back to her maiden name, Matsuoka, but she hasn’t found the time. Sometimes Martha wonders if she’s holding on to the name for the same… Continue Reading
It’s hard enough for George Morris to pretend he’s not poor without having his brother’s beat-up shoes next to the door. They’re brown where they’re not smeared with the black of the street and they’re idle when they should be… Continue Reading
I sang to her. She seemed to like it. She was almost jealous. “I want to sing to you too. But I don’t know which song to sing.” I sang to her every song I had ever heard. Songs my… Continue Reading
“Your wish is my command!” Jim stood in a snow-covered clearing where he’d stumbled upon a well. “… Were you hiding behind there?” he asked. “I said — your wish is my COMMAND!” “Green tweed? Aren’t you cold in that?”… Continue Reading
Years ago, when Lisa left her flat in the late afternoons to pace, she would ponder the trickiest questions of her business. What should she write to Frustrated in Cardiff? Would the advice she had drafted for Second String in… Continue Reading
Clive woke with something gnawing at his brain. He knew he had something to do today, but he couldn’t remember what. Before he could get out from under the covers, a commercial came on his TV screen as if it… Continue Reading
He cried for four months straight when he was a baby. Her lips were bloodied from biting them, sucking on them all those torturous nights pacing the cold tile of the kitchen floor. She wanted to throw him out the… Continue Reading
Listen to “The Wall” by Ben Loory, read by Matt Cowens: [display_podcast] Ben Loory is a musician and writer living in Los Angeles, California. His book Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day is currently seeking a home. Matt… Continue Reading