Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - Timmy McGinty had many important teachers over the years but the one who changed his life was Sister Coleman, who taught him in 8th grade back in 1952. She prepared Timmy to thrive in high school and, if a scholarship became available, perhaps in college as well. It's lucky for him she worked so hard because another nun might have given up on him. After all, he was "incorrigible" (according to one of his previous teachers) and the only thing he did well was spell, punctuate, write sentences and compose complete paragraphs. Otherwise, he was fairly useless academically. His main delight was mischief. In that field, he had no peer among his classmates. Like many of the 16 nuns housed in the convent near the school, Sister Coleman was an immigrant from Ireland. She had been brought to Chicago, Timmy learned...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Tracey S. Rosenberg - - His arm tightened around my shoulders. "After tonight, I don’t want to see you anymore." "You always say – " "I mean it. Don’t stop by." The DVD player blinked 12:00, 12:00, 12:00. On his mantelpiece lay a pot of menthol lip balm and two pairs of rechargeable batteries. Pressing closer to him, I touched his chest, searching for his heart beneath his thin sweater. "Have you been running lately? The London Marathon’s coming up soon." "No time to train. I certainly don’t have time to cuddle you on the sofa. Go. Scram." He pulled away, leaving his hand grasping the back of my neck. "I have too much work I ought to be doing. Sorry if that hurts, but I believe in honesty." If he hadn't been wearing his sweater, his ribs would have jutted against my fingers. His sweater looked gray from...

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Author: Tracey S. Rosenberg

Contributor: David Macpherson - - She used to work at a high end dress boutique called Tsunami. Well, high end for a store in a mall. I didn’t know her. This was the only time I ever met her. She was the girlfriend of a guy who was kind of a friend of the circle I hung with. For New Year’s Eve 2004 we all met to drink in 2005 at the Olde Village Pub. It was dark wooded like an Irish Bar, but the only food you could get from the kitchen was burritos. She was in this short black dress that I guess was stylish. I told her it was nice. She whispered the designer’s name to me as if she was giving me insider info on a stock. She said, “I haven’t worn this thing since the store I worked in closed up, like 5 years ago. Can you believe it still fits so good?” This was not a question you would want to answer with her boyfriend leaning into...

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Author: David Macpherson

Contributor: Catherine Weiss - - Edna had bagged groceries for the people of Sockville, Oregon for almost a decade. Once a nurse at the local hospital, she had retired only to find a life of pure leisure to be dull and unfulfilling. Instead, she filled bags of groceries for 9 dollars an hour and that seemed to be enough. She liked the apron, and the uniform that went under it. She liked her black New Balance sneakers and the gel-filled mats she got to stand on that made the job a little easier on her ankles and knees. She liked saying hello to the townspeople and she liked knowing who was eating potato chips again after swearing they'd diet all summer. But most of all she liked the swish of a plastic bag being opened and filled. One warm spring afternoon, Edna was walking home through town--she always walked unless it was cold, which...

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Author: Catherine Weiss

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - Marvin, an inveterate schlepper since birth, is a man who has never done anything he didn't have to do. One day, however, much to the delight of his wife, Miriam, he suddenly became remarkably useful around the house. Miriam noticed the difference and she couldn't believe his sudden burst of activity. But she was afraid to say anything since Marvin didn't suffer compliments gladly. Yet she felt she must say something to this new man in her marriage after all those decades of lethargic years. After all, Marvin was now a whirlwind, morning and night, making wonderful meals, doing the dishes and laundry, vacuuming carpets, performing with grace and without complaint all the household tasks Miriam had done without help for more than 40 years. Marvin even walked Chelsea, her ancient Shih Tzu, three times a...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Jeffrey Albright - - The soft glow and continuous sounds of medical equipment emanated from the rooms lining the ICU. Percy Baggett, an awkwardly skinny man, cleaned with purpose in his neatly pressed janitorial whites taking care not to wake the patients. Working the evening shift at Mercy General, Percy was consumed with anxiety as the clock neared eleven. It was almost time to go home. Percy lived in one of the oldest houses in Fremont; just a few bus transfers away. Percy lived alone with his mother. After stopping at the pharmacy for a few of mother’s many prescriptions, Percy arrived home and entered through the kitchen, being as quiet as possible. Mother’s apnea was music to Percy’s ears. Percy left the paper bag of prescriptions near the sink and retreated to his bedroom, not making a sound. Quickly disrobing,...

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Author: Jeffrey Albright

Contributor: Taylor Saulsbury - - I walk into the sandwich shop with a one-track mind: turkey on wheat, no cheese. Some lettuce to add crunch. Maybe a little chipotle mayo to spice things up. No. Light mayonnaise. I need to watch my figure. I’ve been craving this damn sandwich all day and without a lunch break, I’m a bit peckish. One may even describe me as slightly irritable. My mood is not the point. The line finally dies down and it’s my turn to order. A pretty, young blonde stands at the register, ready to take my order. Without a second of hesitation, I begin to rattle it off. “I’ll have a turkey sandwich on wheat bread. Multi-grain, if you have it…No actually, wheat is good. I’d like some romaine lettuce and a light sprinkle of salt, pepper, and oregano.” I haven’t even made it to the light mayo before the girl walks away from...

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Author: Taylor Saulsbury

Contributor: Chris Sharp - - I am living in a senior housing community with many old timers. Apparently, they all remember Elvis Presley vividly. The truth is, I am not young myself, but at age 55 I am old enough to qualify for this season’s low-cost senior colonies. So after being here for over a half a year, I developed the idea that the only reason why these people are not dying off like old flies is because of the rejuvenating way they have redecorated their old histories. My next door neighbor has told me she has recently been visited by Elvis himself. He has arrived in her dreams at night, and like a side-burned vampire he disappeared at sunrise. But then Elvis returned the next night. My neighbor wants to tell the world about this. She is not the most computer literate person in the world, so when I offered to release...

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Author: Chris Sharp

Contributor: Anneka Winder - - Two men sat at the edge of a particularly large and craggy cliff in the middle of a place where civilization had not yet encroached upon. It mattered not who they were in human society-- that their khakis dangling over the edge had been featured on a vast number of travel magazines and their rugged looks exploited in the feminine side of society. Here they were but a human intermingled with the wild. The first man curled himself into a ball, pinning his legs above the sharp rocks; he did not appear distinctly different from the other (despite what news rags claimed), but for all storytelling purposes, he is separate in his name: Ricky. Said Ricky to the other with a shudder, "Can we go now? I don't like putting ourselves in harm's way like this-- without a harness or anything. I feel vulnerable... do...

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Author: Anneka Winder

Contributor: Robert Bates - - Did that kid’s shoes just fly off?” I ask, looking up at the boy whirling around on the Space Noodle ride. “Yes, they did. We should go pick them up,” says James. Like the gentlemen we are, we go and retrieve the kid’s shoes. “Hey, losers! Give me back my shoes!” the kid shouts furiously. “We went and got them for you,” I try to explain. “Stop stealing my shoes! Thieves! Scoundrels! I’m going to punch you scallywags in the face!” “This kid has quite the vocabulary. Let’s go hide his shoes,” I say deviously. We throw the shoes under a tent and go on about our teenage business. “Are you kidding me? That kid is on a golf cart with the chief of police!” says James, pointing out into the distance. But before either of us can get away, the two drive up to us at the supersonic speed of five miles per...

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Author: Robert Bates

Contributor: Krysha Thayer - - The smell of booze and sex had settled on him long before he decided to call it a night and stumble next door and up the stairs to his second floor flat. Living next door to a bar had certainly changed his life for the better since moving to this small town and he enjoyed the nightly visits from women. The bar owner, only a few years older than he was, even allowed him the use of his office occasionally so he didn’t have to bring them upstairs and have them spend the night. Tonight had been a good one, as Ladies’ Nights always are, and he had stayed until the place closed. He didn’t even bother with a shower, he just pushed the cat out of her favorite spot on the bed and cursed her when she hissed at him. He never liked her anyway. He had let someone stay with him and when they left, they left the cat...

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Author: Krysha Thayer

Contributor: Reese Scott - - When he was born he didn’t sleep. His mother went insane and slept under the neighbors cars and slept with the elderly, the dying and the children. After she died he began to sleep. And inside his sleep he had wonderful dreams where he flew, swam, rode big wheels and found friends just like him. When he woke up all he wished was he could go back to sleep. In bed the clouds and bad dreams stayed away. But when awake there was nothing but earthquakes and horror. There was nothing he could control. Eventually after his father passed away one night in front of the television he was free to sleep for as long as he wanted. He could stay in bed when he was awake and wait for himself to fall asleep again. He painted the house the colors he saw inside his dreams. Bright blue, a shy white that removed all the...

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Author: Reese Scott

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - One of many problems Marjorie has had in life is poor banana management. She has always purchased too many bananas and half of them rot on her kitchen table before she can eat them. Only fruit flies in summer prompt her to throw the rotten ones out. But since she hates to throw anything away, there are bananas, in different places, all over the house. This is not the kind of problem a renowned artist like Marjorie should have. Not only are her paintings on display at major modern art museums but she also holds a doctorate with high honors in philosophy from Yale. She is an accomplished woman, still attractive despite the passing years, the kind of woman a distinguished widower might turn to for companionship after a graceful mourning period had been observed. Banana management, however, is not Marjorie's...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Kristina England - - Dotty leaned over and scribbled a word in her journal. Then she exhaled her last breath of life into the moonlit bedroom. Her son, Andrew, found her the next morning. He wept for some time before calling in her death. After her body was taken away, he sat in the room watching the day pass into night. When it became dark, he leaned over and flipped on the lamp on her night table. He looked at the open journal and pulled it into his lap. He stared at the word and shook his head. His mother had carried around the journal for the last three months as the cancer ate at her. "Are you keeping a diary?" "Oh goodness… No. I've decided to be reincarnated, but I don't know what I want to be yet. The journal is for brainstorming." Chemo brain, Andrew thought. The treatments were making her wacky. Then again,...

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Author: Kristina England

Contributor: Matthew Konkel - - “You’d feel differently if it was your family, if it was your church.” Louis stood stoically in the parking area staring out at the grey lake water, his back to her, hands in his pockets, listening to Sarah’s rusty metal voice. He was listening but her words were an alien language to him. “Why did you even come with me if you were just going to stop? Why did you even pretend to care?” She was sitting in the rear of the parked car with the door open talking to his back. Her curly, storm-colored hair undulated in the wind. “You couldn’t even wear a clean suit. Or a nice jacket.” Louis let his eyelids fall as he parted his lips and took in a breath of the cool lake air. It was much colder than it should be, thought Louis. It was June. Where was the sun? He would take his sunfish out on the water when...

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Author: Matthew Konkel