She heard the old bell bounce wildly against the doorknob as someone entered the store. She set down the tweezers she was using to search for caterpillars that might eat her petunias. “Hello?” a male voice called into the foliage.… Continue Reading
When the spaceship came, Tamsin thought it was some sort of marketing stunt. It landed on the beach just above the high tide mark with a whir and a puff of steam. People on the boardwalk stopped and stared. A… Continue Reading
Listen to “The Air Above My Head” by Rachael Dunlop, read by Folly Blaine: [display_podcast] Rachael Dunlop is an award-winning writer of both short stories and flash-fiction, and a serial starter of novels – she has an extensive collection of… Continue Reading
My wife and I had a cookie jar, a gallon-sized container with a glass lid that was left over from a Christmas gift we got before we married. It was Olivia’s idea to save it for jokes long after the… Continue Reading
George’s ring. A baby shoe. Three pennies. War and Peace. The last picture of the family together, dated 1992. Stella opens her eyes. It’s all there on the table. Bits of her life, remembered. She stops holding her breath. Puts… Continue Reading
The brambles? Kept pigs out of the gardens. The story? Got my parents out of a jam. “My gosh,” I said to my aunt, “haven’t they bollocksed it up now!” She gave that ginger-and-lemon laugh of hers. “They can lie… Continue Reading
Red patent leather winks out from the central window of the store. On the left uniformed dummy-girls wear pleated gymslips, bound with fixed girdles of red or green or blue. One is uncomfortably bumfled up in an unseasonable Burberry. On… Continue Reading
Anyone who tells you blood tastes delicious is a liar. In fact, I can almost guarantee that they are telling you that to sound tough. The truth isn’t nearly as glamorous. Blood tastes like dirt and metal. I hate it,… Continue Reading
The bite didn’t look bad. Clarissa touched the skin around the wound — warm, swollen, coagulated blood gathering at the outer edges. She rubbed her fingers against her jeans, fresh blood atop older stains from spilled coffee and dirt from… Continue Reading
Angela sat across from him, beautiful in her weird, skinny, features-all-too-long way. Comedian beautiful. He thought about her hips and spun his coffee cup in a little ring of its own guts. She hadn’t touched her plate of breakfast tacos.… Continue Reading