Issue #35
After by Claudia Monpere

and after and after and nothing changes, just the names of the children. This one drew birds wearing hats. That one had an orange juice popsicle for an imaginary friend.

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Prudence by Christy Stillwell

They put the shock collar on the boy and that was it for the nanny. First they put the collar on one another. They were professors in English and Philosophy, all of them smart people.

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Husband by Sara Cappell Thomason

I want a house, a wife, a steak dinner and all my bills paid on time. I want to settle down in a house and get paid. Dinner from my wife served on time

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Huey on Beauty by Kai-Lilly Karpman

Good morning. I am a beautiful man—thank God, I guess. Religion doesn’t speak to me. The sun rises, waking me like a dear friend might. Coffee can boost your cortisol levels—never touch the stuff

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Crotches and Feet by K. McGuirk

I was chatting with a new friend at the café. I’d been sitting alone with a crossword when she came by and sat herself down. I’d heard about her before I met her.

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Ugly Baby by Molly Foltyn

You were an ugly baby. As the first, you had a difficult journey, paving the way for yourself and then me, and your head came out pointed like a traffic cone.

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Revision by Beth Kanter

I immediately accepted Anne Frank’s invitation to join her for afternoon tea at Koffie ende Koeck, Amsterdam’s highly rated vegan cafe a mere scone’s throw away from the apartment where she almost grew up in Merwedeplein Square.

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You, Visitor by Jane O’Sullivan

You don’t like her much, not that you can tell her that. Slugging along behind you, hands in pockets. Sullen as a fish despite the fucking dawn rising over the city, the glory of it.

Blue-naped Parrots See More Than They Say by Judy Darley

I date Brodie while I’m visiting Seattle. He shares a draughty old house with a bunch of roommates, including a blue-naped parrot who lives in a big cage looking out at a treehouse.

On the Morning Dance Floor by Alex Juffer

Jakey, face pressed to the window and eyes cupped into makeshift binoculars, could see Mrs. Claddagh sitting perched on her couch, speaking to herself.

After by Claudia Monpere

and after and after and nothing changes, just the names of the children. This one drew birds wearing hats. That one had an orange juice popsicle for an imaginary friend.

Glass Flamingos by Catherine Roberts

I smash them all. Because who the fuck collects glass flamingos? Around me, pink shards sparkle in the carpet like pretty vomit.