Volume 3, Spring/Summer 2010

Performance Piece: Housewife, by Elizabeth Castiglione
“I, however, am very interested in starch, and not so interested in birthing babies, except my own. And I am interested in art, and in making stuff, and in doing a lot of the things that my mother rushed through in order to do what she cared about.”

Oh, by Russell Hehn
“I never saw Katie Heath, but I knew that throat of hers was as paper white as a Beluga. And, although this person, this youngish girl on the other end of the line, did not let a single R fall from her lips or drip from her cheeks, that timbre, as I mentioned, that waver, indicated to me the potential for a soggy, sultry R that would shoot me back to those Katie Heath, radio-induced erections set to Bartok and Schumann.”

Drifter, by Salvatore Buttaci
“Rossi stood up, walked around Bennett’s chair so that he stood behind him. “Are you choking?” he asked, but Bennett wouldn’t speak. He shook his head. Then it was Rossi yelling, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” because Nat Bennett was disappearing limb by limb, his head and torso floating above his seat, his mouth gaping in a soundless scream.”

Volume 2, Fall 2009

Master of Fine Arts, by Jonathan Padua
“It is during workshop when the woman from Texas dumps the contents of her purse onto the table, a compact, a tube of balm, a wallet as fat and heavy as a brick, faded receipts and gummy bills fluttering down like dirty secrets, her screaming across the room, This, this is what your stories look like!”

Day Traders, by David Moskowitz
“It’s only practice, but the boy’s been down too long. You train your kids to get up and back into the huddle as quickly as possible, even if they’ve just given up a big play. Especially then—quick recovery shows confidence, strength. You’re almost men, you tell them, so writhing on the ground won’t draw a late flag: Save the histrionics for soccer, and go look it up if you don’t know what histrionics means.”

You Can Live On Lemons, by William Walsh
“Arturo was so much happier before the revolution. And this is how he should be remembered, performing every night of the week at La Huchina, two shows, some nights three. Old regime, new regime. It didn’t matter to Arturo. His politics ran only as deep as the acne scars on Generalissimo’s brutal face.”

Short Story Outline, by John Carroll
“OK, Jennifer. Jennifer is Roman Catholic. A Roman Catholic superhero? I can’t shake that idea. Perhaps that means something. But will it sell?”

In The Garden of Henry King, by E. Smith Gilbert
“After the snakebite, he’d been out for a good three hours in the hottest time of the day, in the field beside the tractor where he’d fallen. His employer, Stone, found him. Henry was taken home to die.”