map Macro-Fiction Archives

Sex Ed With Barbie and GI Joe

Issue No. 170 ~ July, 2011

“He ain’t no doll. I keep on telling you GI Joe ain't no doll. I don’t play with dolls. That'd make me some kind of sissy, like you, always talking about kissing and reading and stuff.”

Ziggurat

Issue No. 170 ~ July, 2011

I look around at the solid glass wall, cathedral ceiling, Oriental rugs, squishy soft sofas, and wonder whether Enedina, who lives in this house eight hours a day, is under the impression that me and George live in similar surroundings. If she were to know what kind of place we really live in, would she ever consent to letting us have her baby?

Of Women And Rain

Issue No. 169 ~ June, 2011

He could hear her breath faintly and feel it on his cheek as she slept: the flesh-and-coffee smell, the sweet, approachable susurrus not unlike the violent tranquility, so visceral yet so narcotic, of the morning's rain; he was drowning in flowers.

Storehouse

Issue No. 169 ~ June, 2011

It didn't even matter; he was going to fly. He got in his car, turned on the radio to the classical music station and sped home to a bouncy symphony.

Dogsitting

Issue No. 168 ~ May, 2011

Julie had a thing for cemeteries. Her father died when she was a girl, in a sudden and god-awful way, which had always explained a lot about her.

The Cleansing of Abu Salam

Issue No. 168 ~ May, 2011

Ben-Zion watch the village, waiting for a wave of the hand, a twitch of his lips, the murmur of an order, some kind of prognostication of coming danger or relative security.

Summer Barbecue

Issue No. 167 ~ April, 2011

But then something will happen. A few words that were supposed to mean something small and specific will become a lot of words about something important, amorphous and large.

Two Ladies Under The Influence

Issue No. 167 ~ April, 2011

She takes a couple of healthy gulps. Without such completely feminine hands, her beer chugging might be considered downright unladylike.

The Face on the Kitchen Floor

Issue No. 167 ~ April, 2011

A large blob of grayish-green was visible therein, and its presence I acknowledged with a muttered 'for Christ's sake' because to me it suggested a leaking fridge and a whole lot of hassle.

Frank O’Hara

Issue No. 166 ~ March, 2011

He went home to Nebraska and found all the letters he had written waiting for him, returned to his parents' house, unopened. Betty was nowhere.