FICTION
 

Ugly Talk by Alice Whittenburg
The doctor's wife blames me for her misfortunes, and she retaliates with ugly talk. She tells people I can kill chickens by wringing two fingers of my left hand in my right fist. She says I can make the rye get the damp rot by breathing slow and hot onto the side of the barn under a full moon...

Requiem for a Rodeo Clown by Greg Richard Bernard
Sunlight filters through the stadium seats, dust pooling in swirling motes about the cowboy's jeans. In the mottled shadows the girl stands, arms folded, feet placed widely apart in the dirt. They talk briefly of the rodeo as the smell of steer shit wrestles with the sour stench of fear and exertion...

Shotgun by Merrie Haskell
She twisted the shiny new wedding band around and around. It was tight on her finger, and turned slowly. All her fingers were plump and swollen with the pregnancy...

Waiting for the Ice to Melt by Rod Schecter
"I can't drink it warm," he says from across the table.

"So, what do you want me to do about it?" I watch a cardinal fly behind him from my kitchen window, wondering why he announces every simple fact or function, from belching to scratching his ass...

Superbowl Sunday by Susan Fry
"Fifty bucks says the Rams win." Vince pressed the mute button, sat forward in his leather armchair, and looked at me.

The other guys slowly turned away from the big screen TV. I gritted my teeth...

Bullhead by Leigh Allison Wilson
Every story is true and a lie. My mother tells a story about the love of her life. It's a simple one, but she always cries when she tells it and looks right through me, as though I hadn't been born. Something about the detail makes me feel there's a sadness in the world that will last until the rushing crack of doom...

A Short History of the 20th Century, With Fries by Tim Jones
By the time they got to the Finland Station, Lenin and his posse were famished.

"What'll it be boss, Burger King or McDonald's?" asked Zinoviev.

Lenin rustled up the kopeks for a quarter-pounder and fries all round and they set to chowing down. By the time he finished, Lenin had had a better idea.

Wrong Number by Mary Paddock
"Honey, we don't have a horse, do we?" Dean and I were laying in bed, groggily engaging in the daily waiting game over who was going to get up and make the coffee...