Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - Anyone who has had poetry published by an editor over the years has a relationship with that editor whether one knows it or not. Sometimes the relationship is lukewarm, other times bordering on friendship, occasionally deep. Over time, writer and the editor notice mannerisms in each other that are often never discussed since these insights have nothing to do with the work and time may be important to one or both. That's happened to me with editors over the years but never with such impact as happened in an incident that occurred not long ago. This editor has accepted my work on a regular basis and has kept his distance, a safe place to be for anyone dealing with writers, most of whom know how good they are. Every once in awhile, however, he would tell me that my writing reminded him of some author I...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: April Winters - - What a drag. "Can I play?” Debbie wears a hopeful expression. She’s thinking maybe this time her brother and his pal will let her join them, seeing as how her only friend, Linda, just moved away and all. “Go home, stupid! Even idiots know girls can’t play Cowboys and Indians,” her brother says. She knows Joey’s favorite television show is Wagon Train, but she doesn’t get it; some of those western television programs Joey likes so much have women shooting at Indians, too, so why can’t she play? “Yeah!” Billy glares at Debbie, his face mirroring Joey’s contempt. Chin quivering, Joey’s little sister turns toward home. Debbie turns back and watches the boys disappear behind a cluster of trees where they’ll meet more friends to play guns and arrows with. She wonders why Joey is always so mean – like how...

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Author: April Winters

Contributor: Krystina Balogh - - The old Victorian house loomed ahead, its windows a dark reflection of the pending autumn storm. Sasha pulled her thin jacket closed and quickened her pace. She didn’t like the house. It was eerie with its unkempt garden and peeling trim. “Can you help me, please? Excuse me? Can you help me?” Surprised, Sasha looked around and saw the little girl standing on the porch steps, her dress straight out of the 19th century. That’s odd, she thought. I didn’t think anyone lived here. I guess someone finally bought the old place. “Excuse me,” the little girl said once more, coming down the steps towards Sasha. “Please, I need help.” “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Sasha asked, rubbing her hands together to keep warm in the chill air. She should have worn her heavier jacket. “It’s my father,” the little girl said....

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Author: Krystina Balogh

Contributor: Karen Lindsey - - Sheila had no particular fondness for statues, holy pictures, or other renditions of Jesus. Baby Jesus always looked so snarkily cute she found him wholly without charm. The handsome young white hippy looked smug, even when he was interacting with children: she had a sneaky feeling he was giving them bars of healthy snacks. Worst was the morbid near-corpse nailed to the cross, its sparse right ribs bleeding heavily. Raised by vaguely Christian parents, she had a slight belief in God and the afterlife. When her kids were young she had a Christmas tree and an Easter egg hunt. When they grew up and left home, she abandoned the practices comfortably. Nor did she ever go to church, unless weddings or funerals required it. On the whole, she preferred the funerals: they were less noisy and the food was less...

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Author: Karen Lindsey

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - It's Christmas Eve and Paddy Kelly is on his way home from work at the Post Office. He stops at Rosen's Deli and orders a brisket of beef sandwich on pumpernickel rye with a smear of horseradish and a "new" kosher pickle on the side. Ever since he came from Ireland to Chicago years ago, Paddy has preferred the "new" kosher pickle to the standard kosher pickle because it's crunchier, he says. It's more like a cucumber, he told his wife, because it isn't cured as long as the standard kosher pickle. He loves the sound as he bites into one, a sound he magnifies whenever he brings his wife to Rosen's. Maggie Kelly likes the new pickle but doesn't like the sound of Paddy chomping on it in public. "I'll take a potato latke, too, Sol," Paddy says to Mr. Rosen, the proprietor of the deli and eldest son of a...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Alexander Ziperovich - - I went out for a smoke and there was a long, used syringe standing upright in the gravel inside the crowded dog park in front of my building. I went up to the gate and started yelling but the hundred barking dogs drowned me out. As I stood there shouting I watched a Doberman whose curiosity had been piqued by the shiny object walk up. The big dog stooped and sniffed around, tilting its head to the side in a final consideration before wandering off. Then a young, ebullient poodle came bounding up and greedily fastened its jaws down on the needle. The stunned dog stopped moving for a moment, its tail limp, before letting out a high-pitched scream. It staggered around wildly, blood pouring from its snout as the needle dangled from the roof of its gaping mouth before falling back down to the gravel. That...

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Author: Alexander Ziperovich

Contributor: Sean Crose - - By December's end, it was all over. After drinking your way through New Year's weekend up in Boston, you awoke to the dullness of a wintry wasteland and a complete, total, lack of direction. “Where to from here?” was the question much on your mind that January. Unfortunately, you couldn't find an answer. Not in the ten songs you and the guys had recorded. Not in your mother's nagging. Not in your new job at the bakery. Nowhere. “I'm at a crossroads,” you had uttered to Mom one day during one of your unending stream of arguments. “You're always at a crossroads,” she replied. She was right and you knew it. Still, you were helpless to change your situation. You'd have taken the road less traveled, but that road wasn't presenting itself to you. No road was. Fortunately you got around to finishing the book Jody...

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Author: Sean Crose

Contributor: Ryan Priest - - His breath is hot against my face which is funny because his words are lighting a fire in my mind. He’s so animated and passionate that I don’t care that I don’t know what he’s talking about, don’t really know what I’m nodding along with. I’m just so happy to have his attention. I can’t help but to hang on every word, every delicate detail of this encounter. He’s got that thing, charisma. It’s like a magnet in his smile and you can’t help but to be drawn in. You simply like him and have a desperate need for him to like you back. You always want more of him. It’s not about sex but he is sexy. You’re not gay but you would be for him. If he asked you. You’d do anything to make him like you. This is charisma and I know this. I recognize it easily but still I am powerless against it. More power than any one...

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Author: Ryan Priest

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - Barney, I'm pro-life so I can't kill Rosie, no matter that I caught her in bed with Wilbur. I'm a Catholic so if I were to kill her, I'd go straight to Hell if I were to die before going to confession. And even if I go to confession, and Jesus Christ forgives my sin, imagine how long I'd be in Purgatory. It would take years to strip away the stain--not the guilt--of that sin from my soul. Christ's death on the cross took care of the guilt but I'd still have the stain. I know you Baptists don't believe in Purgatory but I'm reserving seats for both us in advance. You see, killing Rosie would be a little like setting my neighbor's house on fire and it burns to the ground. My neighbor might forgive me in time but I'd still have to pay for the damages. Worse, I'd spend years in jail. Sins can be forgiven...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Jerry Guarino - -     “But it’s not really my fault, then is it?”  Joseph was confessing to the psychiatrist.  “I mean, we can’t really control our thoughts, can we?     “Is that what you believe?”     “I’m looking for an answer.  You’re the expert.  Can anyone really control their thoughts?”     “Joseph.  The mind is a very complex entity.  Are you looking for a medical answer or a religious one?”     “I didn’t think there was a difference.  I want to know whether my thinking has implications for my actions.”     “Ah.  Then that’s a medical question.  Strictly speaking, this is a question that has been going on for ages.  Will you be an astronaut or an astronomer?  Do you...

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Author: Jerry Guarino

Contributor: Cezarija Abartis - - They had courted under the branches of the oak tree sixty years earlier, and she wanted to bury him in its roots. But there were city regulations about burials, and in the end she obeyed. She even wished they had made love in the cemetery the way the other high school kids boasted they did. She and Hank held hands and walked to the library and back–hardly models of steaming romance. Hank brought her a copy of Romeo and Juliet for her seventeenth birthday. “Well, your name is Julie.” He drew a circle in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “Does that make you Romeo?” she had asked, knowing he would be embarrassed. “I didn’t mean...” He sighed. “I only wanted to give you the book.” She patted the cover. “I’ll keep this always.” She held the book to her chest and kissed him on the cheek. The book sat...

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Author: Cezarija Abartis

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - Two new crutches and two double shots of Bushmills Irish Whiskey enabled Joe Faherty to move from the back seat of Moira Murphy's 1976 Buick into Eagan's Funeral Home for Tim McGillicuddy's wake. At 87, Joe was in bad shape, only a tad better than McGillicuddy who looked splendid in a rococo casket. The way the funeral home had painted McGillicuddy's face, he looked better than most of the folks who had come to say good-bye. Many of them were in their eighties. Even Moira, who still had her driver's license, was creaky at 75. McGillicuddy was 90 when he fell off his horse out in the country. Until that moment he hadn't been sick a day in his life. Never drank and never smoked. Women were his passion. He was calling on a couple until the day he died. Few folks knew that McGillicuddy had been expelled...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Kristina England - - Jenny pulled her hair in a ponytail and smiled at herself in the mirror. She fixed her dress, pushing one last wrinkle out of it. Then she left for work. *** Jenny had been through a tough year. Unexpected weight loss and cramping had led to tests and medical bills. Then there was her attitude. She was having constant mood swings. This ongoing shift in emotions had impacted her relationship with her husband, her coworkers, even her twin sister. "I can't do this anymore. I'm not happy," she said to her boss, crying in his office. "I don't understand. What changed, Jenny? What is it?" "I don't know." Tears were always followed by a too-straight-faced posture, denial, and the inability to seek help. The weight loss got worse. She had colitis, so she went to the GI doctor insisting it was...

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Author: Kristina England

Contributor: John Laneri - - It was a Saturday night, and a group of us from the Double T were celebrating at the Dead Horse, a saloon on the outskirts of San Angelo. We had just ordered beers when a cute little lady wearing jeans and a red tank top started circling our table. “I’m selling kisses for five dollars”, she said in a friendly voice. I tossed her a smile. “Cowboys don’t kiss. It ain’t’ natural.” “And, why not?” she asked, as she settled onto my lap and draped an arm about my neck. “I bet cowboys are good kissers.” “We are, but we only kiss when we have good reason.” She fluffed her hair and offered me another smile. “I’ve always liked rugged men with happy faces.” She paused to look me over, her eyes going from my curly hair to my freshly polished boots. “You're exactly my type.” “That’s good enough for me,” I said,...

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Author: John Laneri

Contributor: Eric White - - “It was a beautiful service. I think it would have made him smile,” Ryan said to his mother. “Yes…it was. He would have been shocked that so many people showed up. It would have definitely brought a tear to his eye,” his mother replied. “You think so?” asked Ryan, “I don’t think I ever saw dad cry. He always told us he loved us and always showed it, but he was so strong. He was always in such control. I don’t think things got to him the way they did to us.” “Come sit by me honey, I want to tell you something,” said his mother. “Now, how many times have you seen me and your father sitting where we’re sitting now?” “I don’t know. Hundreds maybe…maybe more…you guys spent our whole childhood on this porch swing.” “That’s right, all them times you kids played in the yard, we’d sit here and watch you. We saw every...

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Author: Eric White

Contributor: Jerry Guarino - - Joseph Bosco looked down at the sidewalk, after hearing the bird whistle in the tree overhead. That’s when he saw the worn, twenty-dollar bill caught in the stray roots breaking through the sidewalk. “Hmm. How about that?” and he put the bill in his pocket. Joe learned one important lesson growing up. He didn’t believe in luck but whenever fortune passed his way, he would say ‘it was God’s will’ and accept it. In fact, Joe attributed everything that happened to him to God’s will, good or bad. “Much less stress” he used to say, “much less disappointment too.” Most everyone accepted Joe’s philosophy of life. His friends liked the fact that he was so even tempered, never too high or too low. At holiday gatherings, he could be counted on to balance out the histrionics and emotional outbursts of...

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Author: Jerry Guarino