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Winter 2011

Fiction

Otras Casas by Lisa Marie Basile

"I looked through the little window in my brick wall. Across from me, Señora Absidiola Silva was washing her baby. Then I heard Natanael. He said to his mother, the Señora, "Why do you make me do this?" and I sat there a wilted flower, watching the man scrape his knees and I could not have said one word, nothing, no words."

Flame by Richard Burgin

"Whenever I’m in the store it’s difficult to keep my eyes off Simone. I’m always mildly disturbed by this, but continue to watch her as much as I can without her realizing it. I know this is maddeningly bourgeois, even vulgar behavior yet I can’t seem to stop it. It’s become one of the ways I continue to disappoint myself."

Amorim by Jennifer Greidus

"This is our golden moment. I call in the man for lighting, some women for the film and sound. Davi and I are no longer alone. His slicked-up, bronzed skin is in the spotlight, and I am sidelined. I smoke a brown cigarette, eat powdered donuts, and “journal” about my self-delusion. I wipe white powder on my black tank top and mumble, 'Shit.'"

Over Dinner by Ethel Rohan

"“Don’t kill it,” she said, and struggled to open the window. They watched the spider fall out of his hands, down, down, down into their back garden. She closed her eyes."

Welcome To My Artisanal Cheese and Chocolate Farm by Chrissy Swinko

"Just a brief history before we get started. You’ve no doubt noticed the exceptional design of my gathering foyer. The reclaimed hardwood planks beneath the hand-fluffed mud catcher were salvaged from a local historical site. I first spotted these planks several years ago in a rustic one room church. Recently, it was nearly burned to the ground in an unexplained fire. Fortunately, the local fire department arrived just in time and we were able to rescue these incomparable planks.  We are literally standing upon the floorboards of God. Take a moment to feel the spirit flow from the floor to your mouth as you enjoy my handmade cheeses and chocolates. Outstanding."

Whispers Until Dark by Carl-John X. Veraja

"I remembered a recurring childhood dream of sinking into quicksand.  I tried to scream for help but I was struck dumb.  Nearby, other children played kickball, oblivious to my situation.  Right now, I wanted a ball to kick into the hole.  Then, I could say: 'Goodbye, Daddy.'"