(Some stories have been submitted for publication and may not be presently available.)
(Courtesy of Cloves Literary Journal) Every night before the sun goes down, we emerge Zombie-eyed with limp-wristed waves, never making eye contact as we stroll the painstakingly prepackaged and preplanned neatly stacked beige stucco cottages that from space surely look like a field of tombstones thrusting out of swamplands and the remains of alligators and … Read More Sprawl
(Courtesy of Gut Slut Press) You’ve Got Mail We are born preconditioned to embrace the catastrophic. To eagerly crane our heads towards highway wrecks. Pavlovian frothing at the breathless coverage of every plane crash and capsized ferry. Voyeuristic egos encourage guileless eyes to devour the horrific splendor. As a masochist to the marrow, I have … Read More You’ve Got Mail
(Courtesy of The Adirondack Review) Despite almost dropping him into the water as I carried him on board, the Chief was in good spirits. It was the first time I recalled feeling the Chief in ages. His once formidable frame which was at times my protector or tormentor, was now frail. Bony as a supermarket … Read More Baptism in Black
(Courtesy of Reservoir Road Literary Review) When you sit down in a group meeting, the first thing you do is look to your left and then to your right and reassure yourself that you aren’t as fucked up as the people on either side of you, but you don’t really know better one way or … Read More Jesus is Just Another Name for Gruyere
(Longlisted by Reflex Fiction Magazine) ‘Does it hurt much?’ It was like getting stung by a bee; a swarm of bees, over and over, angrily pricking at your skin, stingers darting in and out like tiny daggers until you no longer cared. Eventually you wanted the feeling to linger as you slid along the razor’s … Read More Mother’s Milk
(Courtesy of Moss Puppy Magazine) I see the same old man dressed as a sea captain on the side of the road every time Idrive down to the docks. He’s 70 or 80 or 90 but definitely ancient and always spinning spinning spinning asign advertising a local marina that offered guided charters of the wetlands.Impervious … Read More Golden Years
(Courtesy of ExPat Literary Journal) Browsing through the stacks of used books at a Goodwill thrift store is a guilty pleasure. Like being in a local dog shelter, I’d love to turn everyone loose and bring them home with me if possible. Every time I moved and was forced to downsize, parting with any books … Read More Chasing the Suburban Dragon
(Courtesy of Vocal Media) Bennigan’s arrived in Jake’s hometown with tremendous fanfare during his senior year in high school. For a lower-middle-class family like his, it was a place of wonder. His family rarely went out for dinner; if they did, it was to Roy Roger’s for burgers. (His father was a huge fan of … Read More Death by Chocolate
(Winner of the Purple Wall Stories Flash Fiction Contest) I don’t believe carnations are real flowers. I say this as I stare at the melamine-wrapped bouquet slumbering on top of the pile of garbage in the trashcan outside the bar. The reflecting moonlight bathes the flowers in a gaudy opalescent hue further adding to the … Read More A Brief Note on Carnations
(Courtesy of Vocal media) The origin of the Spring Rite of Dropping was unknown. Young Cassandra Ashley listened intently as grandparents spoke with hushed reverence about the tradition which stemmed back to their grandparent’s time, and grandparents before them. What little history that had been recorded, detailed the shire’s fortunes in times of the Rite. … Read More Maple
(Courtesy of Vocal Media) Every family needs the tie that binds. That event or hobby which brings generations together. For my family, it had always been fishing. We fished for fluke in the bays off the coast of Sandy Hook, New Jersey on a tiny boat with an engine more suited for a moped. The … Read More Passing the Torch
(Courtesy of Waterways Magazine) I was 11 years old when Grease came out in 1978. My crush on Olivia Newton-John was immediate and all-consuming. I didn’t know which version of Sandy I loved more; the charming doe-eyed cheerleader who I longed to date, or the leather-clad, bad girl that stirred up feelings I didn’t quite … Read More Summer Lovin’
(Courtesy of Black Cat Literary Magazine) The patron behind me stood slack-jawed. It was her fault, but I shouldn’t have been triggered so easily.Her words reverberated in my head.“Well now I know what solitary confinement feels like. I’ve had ENOUGH of this lockdown,” shesniffed.“Have you ever taken a shit in front of somebody,” I menaced.I … Read More Clementine
(Courtesy of Mythic Picnic Magazine/ 3rd Place Micro Fiction Contest Winner) The week before I was remanded to prison, I put my dog Harlan, down. It was as if he knew I was going to be gone longer than the time he had left, and in the noblest act of sacrifice, he forced his organs … Read More Harlan
(Courtesy of Skyway Journal) Buying a pack of Marlboros for my dad, fifty cents. The dead eyed, pimple-ridden clerk behind the counter doesn’t question me. Nobody cares if I’m 13. Rushing back to the running car, freedom awaited two hours down the blackened asphalt of the Jersey Turnpike. Plink, Plink, Plink, Dimes tossed into toll … Read More The Boss
(Courtesy of Waterways Magazine) Peter looked anxiously at his watch. The school bus was running late, again. Depending on traffic, the parking lot at the Springwood Parks Playground would be full. It was a crapshoot every week, especially in the early spring. Everyone with a hint of cabin fever was eager to get outside and … Read More The Merry Go Round of SpringWood Park
(Courtesy of Flash Fiction Magazine) Jake lay with his head in my lap as we sat in the back seat. His mom had been driving for nearly four hours. Nobody had slept; we existed in the cobwebby Neverland between slumber and consciousness. “The Man Who Sold the World” played as we took the long drive … Read More Goodbye Bowie
(Courtesy of Skyways Journal) Shirts of fuchsia and daisy yellow meant to emasculate us Instead becoming our new gang colors worn with pride Old allegiances were forgotten while New beefs were created We wore borrowed equipment Gloves worn with the sweat of ten inmates prior Bats, rationed under the ever wrathful eyes Of guards taking … Read More Boys of Summer
(Courtesy of Resevoir Road Literary Review) The Chief had enjoyed two successful, medal-bedecked tours in the jungles of Vietnam. He enjoyed being in the thick of things, but a Purple Heart was as good a sign as any that it was time to settle down. He and his seed found a home in blue-collar Boonton, … Read More The Chief and the Folding Chair
(Published courtesy of DailyDrunkMagazine) It had absolutely nothing to do with doing something obligatory with my son. It was my weekend for custody, and I truly loved hanging out with him. I missed him every moment of the day he wasn’t around. I recognized I wasn’t going to win any father of the year awards; … Read More Bowling With Lebowski
(Courtesy of Waterways Magazine) Jenny wondered if anyone still bothered to read the Craigslist “Missed Connections” section. It seemed antiquated to her, but it was worth a shot. There had to be better technological options to determine how to connect with someone who she met briefly at the William Chris Vineyard last Saturday. Unfortunately, Jenny … Read More Missed Connections
(Courtesy of Secret Attic; winner of Secret Attic Short Fiction Contest) Nobody goes into a pawnshop of their own volition. Massage parlors, check cashing stores, and pawnshops are bastard stepchildren of urban sprawl. Each was a necessary evil, providing unique services against the grain of suburban enlightenment. Seeking them out was akin to lighting a … Read More Kings and Pawns
Sharks. A simple answer that spoke volumes. When asked why he didn’t go to the beach, Brody answered, “Sharks.” He watched “Jaws” at an impressionable age. That did it. He could barely swim. He looked like a spider in a blender; arms and legs frantically flailing. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t go into the water. … Read More No Day at the Beach
(Courtesy of Bacopa Literary Journal) Passing the bio bags didn’t bother me. Bio bags were used to collect human remains and given to coroners tasked with getting DNA samples to identify the dead. We had dozens of body bags that were of no use; the largest identifiable piece I found was part of a foot … Read More Danielle’s Balloons
(Featured in Purplewallstories.com; nominated for Pushcart Prize) (WARNING: Contains adult content and themes) Same visceral reaction, regardless of the city. Pavlovian response to the jarring neon “Open” sign flashing against blacked-out windows. “Heavenly Delight Spa.” “Eastern Happiness Massage.” New York had whole districts competing to jerk you off. The thrill was in the hunt in … Read More Release
(Pushcart Prize Nominated, PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize Nominated, Finalist in the Texas Observer’s Annual Short Fiction Contest https://www.texasobserver.org/solitary-short-story-finalist/) The fireflies dance magnificently in the shadow of the Big House. Electric disco lights reflect joyfully in the razor wire; pulsating music I can feel but not hear. It’s been eleven days. I can tell … Read More Solitary
(Courtesy of the South 85 Journal; 2020 Julia Peterkin Flash Fiction Award Finalist) Beggars can’t be choosers. It’s not like they are throwing jobs at ex-cons. Excuse me. A justice impaired individual. I didn’t give a shit what they called me. I just knew I needed a job to keep my probation officer off my … Read More “Papa’s” Typewriter
Dutch Simmons 