Stories tagged short-short-story

An Argonaut Ethos

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I was in a box. On a porcelain throne. In the acoustically annoying Executive Ladies’ Room. I had peed on the stick, and didn’t like the color I’d drawn.

Double-Decker Ballerina

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No one knew how the Sorrel Sisters did it, twisted their arms together like taut, white ropes. But it was the highlight of their strong-woman show.

Midnight Snack

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I was about to answer when that something emerged from the woods. It was not an animal, after all, but a woman dressed all in brown. She ap­proached our porch windows. I shuddered and turned away. But her com­ing was inevitable. When I turned back, she

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

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One of the women is a brassy blonde, and when she takes off her coat, I almost choke on a french fry. She's wearing a t-shirt with some writing on it. "Good girls do bad things," it says.

Obituary for a Poet Heretic

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He sat on a leather couch in the nude, blew smoke rings shaped like wild animals and picked verses out of the thick air.

The Captive

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....sees the beginning of a new day through the closed shutters, hears the guard washing up at the sink, feels the beginning of a cry in his throat.

Black Coffee

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“I read somewhere that memory and judgment are the first things clouded by alcohol.” “Memory would be okay,” she said.

HOUSE OF GHOSTS

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The blue Victorian at 1145 White Street shifts in its foundation, creaks, and settles in for the night. The girls are bundled into their beds. My wife, too, has gone to sleep. I’m alone in the kitchen, steeping chamomile tea, coughing phlegm into the wr

The Domino Theory (revised)

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I guess the thing that killed my friend Bobby Domino started with those hearings.

From the Fotomat - Print # 1

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What was he trying to say?

Watching Bobby die

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Sure, he tried to get up, but he had that look in his eye. Something happens. The body knows what the mind does not.

stats

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My son is on the field. My son is throwing a ball. My son is throwing a ball into a mitt. My husband is recording the number of times the ball is thrown. My husband is making little pie shapes in his book. He is making little marks.

Dream Girl

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There was something wrong with this picture. Was he the man she had slept with last night?

Six Ways to Say Butterfly

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He repeated these six words like a prayer. His only confession.

Beamers

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I try again. "You can make a big cup by putting your hands and fingers together, see?" He glares at me. "A giant could make a big cup," he says. "A giant could make a giant cup." I thought so before, and I’ll say it again. A little genius.