An Artisan, a World on Fire

By Matthew Olzmann
Have you heard the expression, “going to hell in a handbasket”? Well, the man who makes those handbaskets is sad that they’re only used for this purpose.

Getaway

By Roderick L Picott
Nola sat ripening, Gulf waters spitting foam at her feet — sunglasses, lotion, rum and coke, and a circus tent towel — the whole bit.

That Time You Went to the Store and Never Returned

By Cathy Ulrich
It has always been inevitable that you would leave, tonight, for the grocery store, and never come back. There has never been any other choice but for you to go, and for me to let you.

The Necessary Paternal Directions

By Geoff Bouvier
School let out, and we headed down for swimming at the spring. But my friends got held up dreading turtles.

Glyph

By Robert Shapard
He’d loved hieroglyphs ever since Indiana Jones twisted one, a stone temple figure, and the walls rumbled open.

Undecided

By Mandy Nadyne Clark
To get out of a four year affair, which she started to get out of an eleven year marriage, Vera started seeing a woman.

Photo Story: Traveling Light

By Vera Duffy
Only the stickies speak louder than he. Fenêtre on the window. Lumiére on the lamp. Her room is a rolling patchwork farmland. A faraway world that’s not far enough.

Holding onto a Shadow

By Nathan Spicer
He loved a girl named Claire, who was a three-dimensional shadow. He watched his shadow merging into her, her graceful slides, her stretches at sunset.

Robert Scotellaro: The Secret Is Out

Bob Scotellaro, a noted master of flash fiction, talks about the art of writing short shorts and what he learned during San Francisco's Underground Comix scene, when he chummed around with famed cartoonists Robert Crumb and Art Spiegelman.

Three Stories by Robert Scotellaro

By Robert Scotellaro
Janelle still had her ex pimp's name, over a smoking gun tattoo, peeking out of her blouse. Property of "Stinger."

Bubblegum Ransom

By Dave Donovan
The situation at the elementary school is dangerous. Childhood has taken Adolescence hostage, and they may not give in this time.

Cornflakes of Compassion

By Janet Hommel Mangas
Head buried between cradled knees, I sobbed rhythmically with the clacking India railway train.