Fiction

Tonight—like every Monday night—the residents of Lexington Home crowd the living room to watch the leotarded men of WWE wrestling trade body-slams and bark scho...

I've worked at the same restaurant for five years.   Not the worst job ever.   No no.   Not terrible.   Just, you kn...

After reading the card aloud, Marilyn’s mother carefully opened the gift she had finished wrapping moments before. Inside the box was an apron made of heavy red...

We put our wine glasses on cocktail tables and face the stage. I don’t think he should be drinking. A year ago I got a text message at 3am on a Tuesday. In a fe...

It sounds like a sack of concrete hitting the pavement. No life. So I get off the couch. Stand still for a moment. Listen to the curses being yelled down below....

“Vittujen kevät ja kyrpien takatalvi!” written in black marker on a ripped out piece of paper, and stuck to the kitchen wall using blue-tack. “Spring of cunts, ...

Eric had a retainer and glasses with the strap-thing that went around his neck so he couldn’t drop them, but he’d eat anything you told him to: crayons, pencils...

The Brady Bunch remains the touchstone for all families thrown into a blender. You know how it goes— it’s the story of a Lovely Lady who was bringing up three v...

At the Dadaist Detective Agency the typewriter went unanswered and the calls went untyped. Communist Armstrong swiveled in his chair and threw his feet on the d...

Hello! My name is Robert Núñez, I am twenty-four years old, and I enjoy learning and synthesizing information. I am here to tell you a remarkable tale about my ...

“Seriously? Watching the final episode of David the fucking Gnome, that dumb cartoon, was the most defining moment of your childhood?” “Hell yes,” Marc said,...

Ingredients: - 1 night of heavy drinking - 2 desperate people - 3/4 remaining bottle of wine on the counter Preparation: - Add ice to a pint glas...

The boy was in the woods, he was lost, and he was questioning everything he had ever believed. He had been wandering the immense Oregonian forest for the better...

This is a review of Stephen Moles’ ‘A Review that Reviews Itself’, a fictional work that exists nowhere other than in this review. Before I begin, I would like ...

After it's over, shed. Shed your clothing—pull pieces of shirts and skirts and panties from your body like a snake escaping its skin. The debris from the fallou...