Fig. 425: 6’ spindle, wood. Blood encrusted, kept in a red plastic hazardous waste bag. Fig. 427: A silver coin depicting a horse’s head in relief hanging from an etched gate. Flip for a reminder about turning back, about checking … Continue reading
The woods are not safe for the likes of you—best you learn to love the hearth and the blessings of a barred door. Lay your head upon my slipper, my dear, my flop-eared, fox-pawed pup, gaze into the fire, and … Continue reading
The Golden Key Flash Fiction Open 2014 Honorable Mention, judged by Karin Tidbeck I once held hands with a man as he drowned. He had cinderblocks chained to his ankles, his arms extended toward the surface of the lake, like … Continue reading
There aren’t any children left in the village, other than Pasha and I, and Pasha won’t play with me anymore. He keeps to himself now, squirreled away in some attic or wandering the surrounding wood in silence. Sometimes he’ll happen … Continue reading
you say you’ll tell me a lie1 and call it a parable 1there were two girls in the forest now there’s one she’s digging well past nightfall … Continue reading
The following is a catalogue of native wildlife seen in the Florida Everglades: Alligator mississippiensis – the native son of Florida. But really not so special, as they were everywhere in the Everglades. Although, he suspected that they had some … Continue reading
The monster doesn’t know how it came to be in the quarry. Like everything else, it supposes, it must have been dropped in like a wishing penny. This explanation is enough for the monster. It considers itself a chronicler of … Continue reading
The Golden Key Flash Fiction Open 2014 Honorable Mention, judged by Karin Tidbeck The excavation began by the bureau in the forgotten bedroom. It had been a deliberate forgetting, the hardest sort. The excavation began by the bureau because Ellison, … Continue reading
After chasing some Zs at the local Sleepeasy, Cephus Seymour Clay drove his ‘71 Chevy into prehistory at the bottom of Moomaw Lake. It weren’t the booger sugar, or even the oxycoffin made him queasy as a grouper snagged by … Continue reading
When Laurel cannot find the honey spurdle in the kitchen, she dives beneath the quilt seeking Rose’s sleeping form, pushing aside sheets and gowns until she reaches the grand alluvial fan of Rose’s dark hair. It only took once finding … Continue reading