By W. A. Smith

Foster is drawing a picture of a very tall lavender man in a cowboy hat. Deeper lavender trees grow near the man, barely reach his waist. Foster chooses an equally deep green for the giant’s hands, and without raising his eyes from his creation he asks his mother how old his grandfather is. ‘Is he inordinately old?”

Angela cannot help smiling. ‘No, not inordinately,” she says. She’s a little embarrassed, she’s unable to tell her son precisely how old her father is. ‘About sixty-six,” she says. (read on…)

by Julie Ann Shapiro

I wake up sweating. It’s the same dream. Smooth flat surface, late afternoon shadows. A sloping valley, two pebbles. Boulders the color of sand; a giant hand caresses the boulders. Late afternoon shadows and the boulders turn to granite. I smell garlic, kick off the covers; fists clenched. (read on…)

Paula J. Lambert

Delia wasn’t sure Frank loved her and now that she might be pregnant, that seemed like a problem. She sat naked on the edge of the tub with her knees together and her bare feet spread, the EPT box on the floor beside her. At 39, she was too old for this kind of crisis. She’d been on the pill for seventeen years and in all that time had never known that ‘certain antibiotics may interact with birth control pills to make them less effective in preventing pregnancy.’ It was printed on the New York Times-length inserts that until now she’d thrown away each time she opened a new pack… so much for government warnings. (read on…)

by W.A. Smith

“What bothers the hell out of me, like nothing else, is when I start singing a song’in the shower or something, or while I’m getting dressed’and you start singing it too.” The man paused and shifted the gun to his left hand so he could lift the coffee cup with his right. He used the tip of his tongue to gauge the temperature and then drank some. He put the cup back in its saucer. “Makes me crazy,” to the woman across the table looking back at him with no expression. “Why do you do that?” he asked her. “Why do you have to sing the same song’why do you always haveta sing along?”

The woman did not look at the gun. She didn’t give it any of her attention. “When you start singing I do too,” she said. “That’s all. Power of suggestion.” She picked up a pack of cigarettes from the table. “May I smoke?”
(read on…)