Prose

Serial Fiction
Bryan Higby and Ricky D. Snyder
Chapter Six We didn’t know it then but a whole world of nightmares was about to be unleashed on our small town of CarLowDen. When I opened my eyes lying on the cot in the police station holding...

Short Fiction
Scott J. Moses
Ezekiel stared over the stillness of the Mexican desert, gun smoke and smelted-iron thick on the cool air. He pressed himself against the dilapidated boards of the shanty and looked to his uncle, who crouched, revolver drawn, peaking around the...

Short Fiction
Jenny Butler
The unmistakable stench of death drew the flies. The contrast was striking, black fly bodies swarming around light pink plastic rollers in a mass of bloodied hair. Blowflies laid their eggs in the woman’s eyes and mouth in the limited fly-knowledge...

Short Fiction
Jonah Howell
After a long struggle which left small red indentations in most of the fingers on his right hand, Abe wrenched the keyring from the pocket of his Wranglers, shook out some unidentifiable dust and stray tobacco shavings, untangled the floppy rubber...

Short Fiction
Jonathan Darren Garcia
Rosemary Journal #1 4/Virgo/2009 . I tried to kill myself. Still, I lay here like a rigid stone etched with scars and without pulse. It’s been rough getting that out, even on here. It was a moment of weakness on my part. I...

Short Fiction
Patrick Karl Curley
Staring out the window, Sebastian saw the brash, orange sun of early morning set fire to the tails of trailing clouds. He saw three quarrelling grackles swirling downward to the scorched ground; the tortured, singed grass; the ragged reeds and...

Serial Fiction
Bryan Higby and Ricky D. Snyder
Chapter Five “Anything come back on that missing persons yet?” Detective Moxley called through the intercom to dispatch. A few seconds passed and then a spunky female voice came across the line. “Nothing yet detective.” The line went dead....

Short Fiction
Jim Meirose
I’ll tell you the story, Doc—I only want dimes. I like the way dimes feel in my hand and I like the way they look. There’s no reason to carry any other kind of coin. I can’t help it Doctor. I...

Short Fiction
David King
You get a preview of what’s to come. If you were alone, you’d be sitting in a tiny little Housing Commission flat in the Park Street Towers South Melbourne looking down over the street with some race caller gunning for vocal...