Fiction Friday: Choppers

  Choppers Mike Murphy     Henry Buckler had never caused any trouble before. This morning, however, he stormed into the dental office and straight to Anita’s desk. “Mr. Buckler,” the young, petite nurse said pleasantly, looking up from her paperwork, “I don’t recall you having an appointment today.” “Is Bernie in?” he asked tersely, clearly agitated. “Why, yes. He’s –” “I need to see him.” “OK,” she replied, unsure how to proceed. “If you’ll. . . uhm. . . have a s–” “I need to see him now.” Dr.…

Fiction Friday: Shame on You

SHAME ON YOU Seth Wagerman Kayla feels terrible. As though all her rationalizations have drained from her with the peristaltic shudders of her orgasm. Kemba buries his face in her neck, resting atop her, still holding her wrists. She closes her eyes, waiting for him to roll over beside her. She gets up; fumbles one-legged into her jeans. “Where’rye going?” he mumbles sleepily, pulling the pillow towards him. Guilt rises in her like bile. It isn’t only her husband she’s wronged. Kemba wants and deserves more than a married woman…

Fiction Friday: Minor Accident

Minor Accident JL Crews “We shouldn’t have rented a car.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I shouldn’t have said them. “Well, thanks, Maggie for that brilliant observation.” His eyes stabbed me, a wound deeper than his sarcastic tone. He knew I hated when he spoke to me like that. As if I was an errant child it was his duty to correct. Forever. Until death do us part. “You thought it was a great idea this morning,” he said, a muscle in his…

Fiction Friday: Celery

Celery Ashleigh Hatter She liked the crunch of things. Many things. Lots of different kinds of things. Of chips and uncooked rice. Of apples and tree bark. Of fingers and celery. Yes, she liked to chew, to snap, to crunch lots of things, but she loved her celery the most of all. Hooded, cozy, sniffing the cold, she stole into the world, shutting her door, licking her lips. Imagining, picturing a crunch. Her jaw seized, and it was usual. Very normal. Very typical. The doctor said so, and the doctor…

Fiction Friday: The Milestone Day

THE MILESTONE DAY Gina Napoli I saved my wedding gown just for Raine, my only daughter. No one else could ever wear this dress but Raine. Bone-colored lace spilled out of the heirloom box, both faded with time. I had worn this same dress twenty years ago. I even put on this dress in this same dressing room in our church. My own wedding day was nothing more than a blur now. Most milestone days are like that. Tears punctuated my wedding day, just like they did today, like water…

Fiction Friday: The Pleasures of the Borden Family Massacre

The Pleasures of the Borden Family Massacre Matt Athanasiou Lizzie Borden took an axe / And gave her mother forty whacks. / And when she saw what she had done / She gave her father forty-one. –Popular rhyme concerning the Borden family murders. The rhyme on the cover of the brochure suggests she saw what she had done, but did she foresee the bed and breakfast and museum her childhood house would become, a roadside attraction, a haunt of orbs in windows, a home for the neighbors’ ghosts as well?…

Fiction Friday: Daisy

DAISY Hailey Piper Daisy encountered the boy years before she found him smiling in the barley field. She was minding her business in a store’s lot at town’s edge, poking at garbage that might hide treasures. A dirty, skinny little thing, not so different from her, the boy toddled out of the store holding the hand of an older woman. This was the morning Daisy could not forgive. “Look, Aunt Delia!” he shouted. “A puppy!” Daisy was young and small, but she hadn’t been called a puppy in a while.…

Fiction Friday: Strangers

Strangers Rory Say “Once I saw her out by Swan Lake,” said Peter Jenkins one hot June afternoon they’d spent prowling the neighborhood. “Saw her bend down and pick up a bunch of worms out of the mud. And guess what?” “What?” “She put ’em up to her mouth and slurped those fuckers up like spaghetti.” “Bullshit.” “I’m serious.” “I heard she sleeps in the old Henderson cemetery,” said Max Flynn. “I heard she doesn’t sleep at all.” Clive Gunderson had never seen the woman do anything terrible, and he…

Fiction Friday: Lavatory

Lavatory Ashleigh Hatter Jangling the handle again, he gently knocked his head against the heavy door, then returned to sitting on the toilet. The remaining light still worked, so there was that. He looked back at the mirror he’d shattered earlier on. How much earlier? Sucking his teeth, he hated that he didn’t know. No one wore watches, and his phone was on the other side of the door. He’d always left his cell out of the bathroom when he went in. As she liked to say, he was a…

Fiction Friday: Nail on the Head

Nail on the Head CLAY MCLEOD CHAPMAN Where did the hammer come from? Good question. It was in my house. Therefore it was my hammer, I guess. Mine now, at least. I must’ve gotten it from somewhere. The hardware store, sure, even though I have zero recollection of ever buying it. It wasn’t my wife’s. People simply pick up tools over time, you know? A hammer here, a screwdriver there… After a few years, somewhere in your twenties, your thirties, you suddenly discover you have amassed yourself a complete toolset…