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Fiction

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Fiction: Keypads, Prologue

Published on

The promenade took on a subtle, but detectable, shift in mood as the spectrum of dusk oscillated on the glossy, sullen surface of the Housatonic Seaway.

The Tyler Street Canal

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By Toby Hudson (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 or GFDL], via Wikimedia Commons

FICTION:
Selecting Cantaloupes

by Jason Velázquez He remembered that she liked cantaloupe. Correction: he remembered that she loved cantaloupe. She told him that

FICTION: Cellar Spider

Published on
"Pholcus phalangioides," by Olaf Leillinger

“Kill it, Daddy.”

He looked at his little girl, stiff and wide-eyed on the hotel room cot, with the covers pulled up just below her eyes. The contours of her nose, mouth, and chin under the taut sheet gave her face a shrink-wrapped look.

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By Toby Hudson (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 or GFDL], via Wikimedia Commons

FICTION:
Selecting Cantaloupes

by Jason Velázquez He remembered that she liked cantaloupe. Correction: he remembered that she loved cantaloupe. She told him that

FICTION:
Selecting Cantaloupes

Published on
By Toby Hudson (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 or GFDL], via Wikimedia Commons

by Jason Velázquez He remembered that she liked cantaloupe. Correction: he remembered that she loved cantaloupe. She told him that if he were ever to be exiled to a desert island and only given three food choices for the rest of his life, he should choose turkey, kale, and cantaloupe because they provided (in combination)

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Fiction: Keypads, Prologue

The promenade took on a subtle, but detectable, shift in mood as the spectrum of dusk oscillated on the glossy,

“Jerry’s Java for Jesus” — Flash Fiction

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"Homeless on Bench," by Tomas Castelazo; CC BY-SA 3.0; GFDL, via Wikimedia Commons

flash fiction by Sheila Velazquez Once a day, around noon, an old white Ford van pulls into the alley and parks in the lot of the apartment buildings. Jerry serves between forty-five and sixty meals a day. He calls his mobile ministry “Java for Jesus,” and although he is not connected to any particular religion,

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“Wherefore, Egypt?” — Microfiction

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by Jason Velázquez “¿Mamá?” Esperanza’s question reverberates musically in the back of the Econoline, “¿Will I get to meet my papá?” Dolores strokes the 11-year-old’s hair with one hand as the other glides reflexively to where, under her oil-stained work shirt, a circular pattern of raised, and occasionally sensitive, skin is a lighter color than

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Fiction: Keypads, Prologue

The promenade took on a subtle, but detectable, shift in mood as the spectrum of dusk oscillated on the glossy,

The lush, stone-walled Italian Garden at The Mount provides a respite from Northeastern summer heat and humidity; early morning photo by Kevin Sprague.

I Am Going to Leave Her Here

The Mount as Edith Wharton’s Feminist Manifesto
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The lush, stone-walled Italian Garden at The Mount provides a respite from Northeastern summer

FICTION: “A Contest of Wills”

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“A Contest of Wills” by Jason Velázquez A few wire hangers bobbed back and forth absently, out of time, in the closet on his side of the bed. The deflated heap composed of grey wool socks, jeans, boxers, flannel shirt, and tee shirt huddled apologetically on the floor in front of the nightstand. “You can

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Fiction: Keypads, Prologue

The promenade took on a subtle, but detectable, shift in mood as the spectrum of dusk oscillated on the glossy,

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