A Literary Magazine Sponsored by The University of Maine at Farmington
Jeffery Higgs
How much fish can a river hold? How many could it expel? With their dull gray pallor, frozen unseeing eyes and shredded spider web fins, they covered the entire shoreline. It was impossible to set down a foot without crushing innards that squirted out a putrid odor of death.
Stephen O’Connor
“It was my last trip of that summer that I recall most vividly. I locked my bike to the sidewalk side of a guard rail on Route 126. After a ten-minute hike through the woods, I arrived at the site of Thoreau’s cabin, where I paid my homage and meditated for a while in silent reverence.”
Terry Barr
“He had to be 70 if he was a day, but then I learned long ago that older Southern people often hide their aging, or have already aged beyond their years. Somewhere in there.”
by Tamar Anolic It was winter when Father Cillian O’Leary realized he had lost his faith. He spent the morning in penance, trying to get his whip across … Continue Reading Dark Night, Bright Sky
by Jonathan Sload Admit that you’re stuck in the chimney. Stop using the phrases “sliding down” and “squeezing through.” You stopped doing those ten minutes ago. Stop … Continue Reading A User’s Guide to Escaping the Chimney
By Z.Z. Boone
Except for the blood pressure, Parisi is a healthy seventy-five-year-old. He swims at the Y four mornings a week, his spine is straight, he maintains the 34-inch waist he carried through college. His mind is sharp; he reads historical novels and sees an occasional play, and he can still knock out the Sunday Times crossword without having to wait a week for the solution.
By Elizabeth Kane
[This story is the official winner of the Fall 2017 Flash Fiction contest, “200 in 2 Weeks”]
She would’ve gone anywhere. Her tap shoes scraped the pebbly sidewalk, the tulle on her skirt fluffing in the cool wind. The light from her dance studio blinked out down the street as her teacher locked the door.
By M.J. Iuppa
[This story is a runner up in the Fall 2017 flash fiction contest, “200 in 2 Weeks”]
No one suspected that she’s the one who said, so long. Until
someone called—the sudden blast of the cell phone, ringing
like Paul Revere, like Chicken Little fearing the sky’s falling.
By Keith J. Clark
[This story is a runner up in the Fall 2017 flash fiction contest, “200 in 2 Weeks”]
“How much for a drink?”
“One piece.”
By Peter D’Antonio
Orn’s hands burnt as the weight of the anchor slid its chain hard against his calloused palms. He cleared his throat, letting out what could easily be misinterpreted as a grunt of pain.
“You’re sure you’ve got it under control?” came a voice from the other end of the vessel.
No answer.
“Orn?”
No answer.