Short Fiction Short Fiction
Short Fiction

Swimming Lessons

Rachel Malmin

The liftoff is like an elevator.

You know that feeling you get when you're going up? Like your stomach is getting left behind? It feels like that. Remember when we were kids and we were staying ...  [+]

Short Fiction
Short Fiction
Short Fiction
Short Fiction
Short Fiction

Trampoline

Ulrica Hume

My new neighbor was a hoarder. She hoarded everything. Crystals, pink bakery boxes—she even took in children. Each one was flawed: too restless, not bright enough, a daisy-shaped head. The sound of ...  [+]

Short Fiction
Short Fiction

Rest Stop

Koji A. Dae

The old priest considered the cast-iron oil pot sitting in the corner of the immaculate kitchen. It was heavy, and his back hurt.
The trees growing on the canyon walls whispered to him. "Prepare ...  [+]

Short Fiction
Short Fiction

Underground

Sara Wilson

It had been nearly fourteen years, but there you were on my morning commute. On your way to work like nothing had happened. Both of us on our ways to work as if nothing had happened.

You looked ...  [+]

Short Fiction

The Sunshine State

Laura Bates

Our new house really felt like a home, with cockroaches and two pit bulls and a palm tree and a chain-link fence. On that first day, I heated up a can of kidney beans for breakfast and ate it ...  [+]

Short Fiction
Short Fiction
Short Fiction

Influx

Meredith Harper

The garbage can is full again. I drag it inside and empty it over the floor, adding to the foot of water already standing in the house. The bathtub and the sinks have been running nonstop fo ...  [+]

Short Fiction
Short Fiction
Short Fiction

Increments

Rebecca Dashiell

When there is no water left, we'll leave. Until then, we ration what we pull from the well. Three-quarters of a bucket for drinking (a full one when the day gets above 90 degrees, which is happening ...  [+]

Short Fiction
Short Fiction

While We Breathe

Mountain Nose

One March afternoon in 1969 I was on the deck of a Chinese junk listening to the water clop against the wooden hull and enjoying a breeze that blew toward the South China Sea. The junk bobbed ...  [+]

Short Fiction

Call It What You Will

Donald Ryan

The doctors, explaining the consent form, referred to him as an allergen. That's the only reason he could figure they prescribed Claritin. Well, technically they didn't prescribe Claritin, being ...  [+]