by Donna Smith Fee
Leo usually shoots me up but this time I am on my own.
Eight flower boxes on a brand new house designed to look old among turn-of-the-century Victorians on Boulevard had to be installed today. Inspired by an historic Queen Anne house in-town that belonged to a favorite daughter of a long-dead UGA law
by Arthur Levine
Fisheye Harper sits down on the curb wishing the can in the paper bag he’s holding wasn’t empty. Sees Chester A. Arthur across the street struggling to carry his bulk up the steps to his law office.
Chester A. Arthur rubs the spot on his forehead where the bag with the can hit
by Michael Cuglietta
I live in a small apartment with a busted heater. It’s an outdated wall unit that spits an inadequate puff of hot air. In the morning, my bed sheets crack under me like a thin layer of ice. I run for the heater
by Cesar Rico
“Is that the guy from the paper?”
“Yea, that’s him. He’s going to see the other one.”
Two young nurses, one with strawberry blonde hair and the other a light brunette, sat behind a light beige counter, watching patients and visitors enter and exit Morgan City General Hospital
by Fred Shelton
At 4:15 a.m., the New Orleans−bound passenger train made its scheduled stop at Hattiesburg, Mississippi, where I disembarked, along with several other passengers, one of whom I recognized as a student at Carey
by Caralyn Davis
The bray of the ringer was so loud that the phone cord vibrated in a spasm barely visible to the naked eye. One ring, two rings. A third. Lura watched the phone from the comfort of her second-hand sofa late on Saturday afternoon
"Maturity" and "Cosmetic Consciousness" continue the Mama and Meriwether story Lewis started in her short piece "Long Distance" last spring.
by Jessica Wimmer
My foot slips out of my left high heel as the front door opens. “Get on in here, chicken. Heat’s gettin’ out.” He watches me wiggle my foot back in. I cross the threshold and wrap an arm around his neck. My palm squeezes his shoulder. I breathe in minty aftershave. His hand pats me two times between the shoulder blades
The chill of winter lingered in the crest of the Tennessee Valley, its breath heavy and cruel against the crusted earth. But Annette could not be disheartened by the cold that seeped through the soles of her shoes and the worn threads of her clothes. Even now
by William Puryear
The coffin lay in the den propped open on an old piano bench, but the boy, peeking around the doorway from the hall and into the den, only smelled roasted turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy, carrots and green beans, wafting up behind him