Issue 5 Spring 2014
Jeremiah set his dish of fresh stewed pinto beans on the coffee table and began to crumble cornbread into the bowl, setting aside a small piece to smother with molasses for dessert.
When I was young I had an invisible friend who only appeared in pitch dark. My parents asked a psychologist why a child should want an invisible friend who defeated the point of being invisible, since I couldn’t see her either. The psychologist had no idea and recommended they consult the local [...]
What you’re Reading Isn’t Real but you Think it is, and that’s the Problem: Literal vs. Figurative reading of Creative Fiction0
What a story does is to show us how to deal with all that which we can not understand; it is half the art of storytelling to be free from information.
Mare’s backpack clinks as she ducks in and out of the pre-dawn shadows. A cold front moving across the state has dropped temperatures to the low forties.
The baby is crying now. Long, strong wails are coming from the front room where he lies in his wicket basinet on wheels. When the baby came three months ago, his weak cries could not be heard across a silent room. No one thought he would survive.
“It’s not what you think,” she said, shifting her gaze down toward her lap, to her hands resting lightly there. He watched her unclasp those hands, long, crooked, ringless fingers, flexing away some unseen stiffness, and then interlock them again, one digit over.