Monthly Archives: September 2016

Joy Ride, fiction by Nick Kolakowski

  The year Max­ine turned four­teen she found her true call­ing, at the cost of two lives. Max­ine spent her child­hood morn­ings at the front win­dow of the crum­bling farm­house where she lived with her broth­er Brad and moth­er Joan … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Faber #2, Graphite

Some­times hus­bands take it well. This one cor­nered Mason at the road­house, drove a pen­cil up his ear canal. Reg­is­tered dis­ap­point­ment when it hit bone, stopped. Mason dropped like an abba­toir steer, his newest girl­friend shout­ing, “Mur­der­er!” Qui­eter hus­bands drink … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Grandma Gone Out of Breeden West Virginia, poem by Tiff Holland

At home, the chick­en coop was more stur­dy than this house where the women gath­ered like hens around the grand­moth­er in the box, my mother’s gram, laid out there in the front room, sur­round­ed by the flow­ers that grew in … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Snaked, fiction by Morgan Boyd

We were gath­er­ing wood at an undis­closed loca­tion deep in the moun­tains when I heard a rat­tling in the pile. I dropped the wood in my arms, and drew my gun. “Don’t shoot,” Mur­ray said. “I’m not get­ting bit way … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Cool Air, fiction by James Owens

orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Kestrel   The dog barked again. Ray lift­ed him­self out of bed for a glass of water too warm from the tap in the bath­room, like drink­ing blood or drink­ing the night air that heat and humid­i­ty … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Two Poems, by Larry D. Thacker

License I got a fish­ing license this morn­ing. It’s good for small game besides fish–coyote, beaver, skunks, and ground­hogs allowed year around. A varmint is a prob­lem beast, a nui­sance, they say, whose exter­mi­na­tion is encour­aged, an inva­sive ver­min offer­ing … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Thicker than Water, fiction by Neva Bryan

You are a beau­ti­ful tragedy. My griev­ous angel. Here, hold my eye.” My broth­er popped his pros­thet­ic eye out of its sock­et and hand­ed it to me. I heard a girl in the crowd say, “Eww.” I curled my hand … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Wayne Whitaker Freezes Hope in the Sights of His Kentucky Long Rifle, poem by Roy Bentley

From the pho­to­graph in The Moun­tain Eagle titled GUNSMOKE, you know Wayne Whitak­er wears over­alls and has a broth­er named Way­lon. The arti­cle says Wayne is a native of Hal­lie, Ken­tucky. And in oth­er news, a scan­dal sheet at Wayne’s … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Baby's Breath, poem by Natalie Crick

On rainy days I give myself per­mis­sion To touch the glass And see your remains: Tis­sues, shad­ows, All that is left Of you. Danc­ing with ghosts Over dark hills. Sky­larks, old dear. When I stand in your old room I … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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