Bruno’s Play
by Carter Schwonke
Issue No. 212 ~ January, 2015
She'd better get a grip, because their morning had just begun, and weaknesses are not tolerated in prison.
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Macro-Fiction Archives
Above Hollering Hill Road
by Greg Lucas
Issue No. 211 ~ December, 2014
Before he finished unlocking the door, he scolded himself for making himself worry unnecessarily. Why would Maggie develop suspicions?
Bogdan
by Ilya Lyashevsky
Issue No. 211 ~ December, 2014
So he is mad then, I thought, looking away. Another loony inhabitant of this great city.
It Was Always the Same Day
by Nate Pritts
Issue No. 210 ~ November, 2014
There was something in the intersection of the two streets, the low slung traffic light, which seemed to all come together.
B.
by Robert Isenberg
Issue No. 210 ~ November, 2014
Bryan is so stylish, she notices right away—his corduroy blazer, his white linen shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, which Bee should find tacky but she doesn’t. His jaw is narrow, his Adam’s apple pronounced, and his hair, black and curled, uncoils lazily over his head.
Barn Sale
by Jeff Ewing
Issue No. 210 ~ November, 2014
The man has the money out, his hand extended uncertainly. The bill is crumpled and dirty, the green ink almost black. The quarter, in contrast, gleams from frequent rubbing. Eve reaches for the money, but Matt steps forward and bats the man's hand away.
Abstract Art
by Yamuna Venugopal
Issue No. 209 ~ October, 2014
My stomach growled with hunger. I made my way to the bathroom and brushed and washed. Lemon rice, plain rice, rasam, brinjal poriyal and carrot sambar were neatly lined up in the fridge.
Never Do This
by Kate Scarpetta
Issue No. 209 ~ October, 2014
A nerve will blinktap in your chest when you get outside. Your eyes will close, so you’ll feel the resonation more heavily.
At Don Smiley’s
by Obinna Ozoigbo
Issue No. 209 ~ October, 2014
Suddenly we see ourselves watching in horror as the very last patient ahead of us, a lanky fellow, reels out of Smiley’s consulting room. He holds his mouth with both hands as if all his teeth will otherwise fall out. As his boots clatter on the polished ceramic tiles, like those of a drunkard staggering home from a local pub, my palms break out again in a sweat.
Manana, Maria
by JP Miller
Issue No. 208 ~ September, 2014
She was just tall enough that she could rest against my shoulder and the top of her head reach my chin. Her skin was a cinnamon color—a flavor.
