THE TOWN OF ASH • by Lisa Strong
We are told: these are not children. So we treat them accordingly. We don’t wave to them, or smile or ask them to join in with our games. Of course they don’t ask us to join in with their games… Continue Reading
Historical
THE DESERTER • by Alec Binnie
Second Lieutenant Edwin Elston led the remaining boys in his platoon to a small clearing within twenty yards of a concrete bunker along the northern edge of the Siegfried line. Elston didn’t need to order them to take any cover… Continue Reading
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD • by Chris Ingram
Ben Taylor was the sort of man who thought nothing of killing another with an unannounced shot from behind. Further, he knew his reputation as just such a man preceded him. He knew he’d probably meet his fate the same… Continue Reading
EVERYBODY LOVES STALIN • by Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri
March 1, 1953. Everybody loves Lucy. My wife Betty loves Stalin. Now she’s lining us all up, my sister Sylvia, Uncle Fritz and me for a family picture. She’s taken them so painstakingly, to keep as a record, she said,… Continue Reading
THE RIPPER IN DODGE • by M.A. De Neve
A cowhand found Barbara Richmond’s body behind the livery stable. Some butcher took a knife to her belly and chest. I stood outside Doc’s office and wept. Lawman Bill Tilghman asked if he could walk with me. “You okay, Dora?”… Continue Reading
AN OCEAN OF MEMORY • by Marie G Coleman
— trigger warning for statutory rape, ephebophilia, sexual predator — Facts may appear solid. Jane knew they mattered, especially since she made her living as a lawyer. History happened, just as stone transmuted into sand, and memories drifted like the… Continue Reading
ALL COLORED GIRLS SHOULD WEAR YELLOW DRESSES • by Joseph Austin
I know if Andy and Buddy could see me now, they’d kick my ass. But I can’t help it. She’s beautiful. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a girl this beautiful. Problem’s she’s colored. That’s why they’d kick my ass.… Continue Reading
REMEMBER, REMEMBER • by Jenny Gaitskell
Millie said he’d be lonely out in the hallway, so Guido stayed in our room. My arms around his chest and Millie lifting his ankles, we moved him across to the kitchenette and arranged him on the spare chair, his… Continue Reading
THE COMMODE • by Joan M Hendricks
I remember the summer of 1952 as momentous. Momentous because that summer plumbing was installed in our family home that sat on a dirt patch forty miles south of the Canadian border. I was seven with four siblings below me. … Continue Reading
THE CUCKOLDRY OF HENRY VIII • by NickGallup
Young Francis Deerham and Sir Thomas Culpepper stood wearily in the dock. Their trial was a sham, with little permitted in the way of defense. The Archbishop of Canterbury himself, Thomas Cranmer, acted as prosecutor, and he was especially theatrical… Continue Reading