She fast-forwarded the whole of Magnolia to get to the one scene she loved, her litmus test for the newish man in her bed, even though she was already feeling cramped and invisible. He was not amused. “Why don’t we… Continue Reading
They chewed. Mouths closed, looking down, they chewed. Each had a fork poised, eyes on their plates, choosing the next bite. He was first, speared a large piece of stringy meat, and scraped it into his mouth over his teeth,… Continue Reading
I wanted to ask her why she didn’t love me anymore, but I just asked instead why we were out of soup. I ate it, she said. I was hungry. I knew this was fair. But I was hungry, too.… Continue Reading
Dinner that night was not a success. Given the stringy chicken, the pallid green beans, Catherine was hardly surprised that her daughter only picked at the meal. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” Lauren said cautiously, lifting her… Continue Reading
“Wi-shes!” The market trader had a booming voice, far louder than any other in the market. “Get yer wishes fulfilled ‘ere!” I faltered, red wine hangover adding to my confusion. The thump, thump, thump in my head meant I couldn’t… Continue Reading
“Jim-bo quit chewin’,” Karen said while collating. “No more black breath. No more spit cups.” We were the only teachers in the building on a Sunday exactly a month ago. Karen was making copies of the Periodic Table and talking… Continue Reading
Listen to “Oranges” by Gay Degani, read by Folly Blaine: [display_podcast] Gay Degani has published on-line and in print including her own collection, Pomegranate Stories. She is editor-emeritus of EDF’s Flash Fiction Chronicles, a staff editor at SmokeLong Quarterly, and… Continue Reading
July, 1992. Shawnee, Oklahoma. He sat at the edge of the pool with his feet dangling in the water, leaning back slightly, arms angling down and away from his shoulders, the weight of his torso resting on the palms of… Continue Reading
Henry Packer was born in the mid-1950s. It was a time when hospital nurses were slim and GPs offered boiled sweets to their younger patients. Henry Packer was born a sickly child. By the 1960s he was familiar with both… Continue Reading
I picked Lee. I needed him, needed his skill: his trigger finger. I’m sorry for what I had to do to you, Betty Lou, but it was partly your fault honey chile. You shouldn’t have been messin’ around with a… Continue Reading