Highways, factories, automobiles, noises, people, sirens, traffic lights, smog, smells, crowds, streetcorners, bars, beggars, factoryworkers, crackheads, officeworkers, blacks, whites, hookers, drunks, immigrants, yourmother, and more highrises and more automobiles, and more people and more noises and – And the smell of carbon monoxide everywhere; from the highways, the streets, the …Read More »
» The Man With Gray Hair by Mark Stewart Cassidy Short stories, flash fiction and creative writing online.
The first day I saw him, others were ignoring him and, perhaps, the rest of the world meant little to him at this point. Certainly this part of the world, a bus stop near a doughnut-and-coffee place, its walls sticky red in the sun, with its pool tables and Pacheco. …Read More »
No matter how many times the hygienist interrupts her Rod and Gun Club wedding reception story to adjust the chair lamp, it keeps tilting back and blinding me. The torn utensil package lies caul-like, contorted on the metal tray. The white walls are saturated with the charred smell of old …Read More »
He had his head in his hands. Content continues after advertisement I leaned against the door frame in the bathroom; the desperately open display of human emotion on the floor before me seeped into my eyes as smoothly and coolly as the chill air ran up my bare legs and …Read More »
» Not Waving Goodbye, Saying Hello by Martin Bell Short stories, flash fiction and creative writing online.
They found the baby in the alleyway, next to the back door of Charlie’s. Everyone knows that the only time that door’s opened is when there’s a raid, or a fight, or both. So when the nurse – oh God, she had such tired eyes – so when she spoke …Read More »
The merciless Florida sun an angry orange disc overhead, the heat shimmers in waves from the dull gray roof of the old Airstream, pitted and scarred like the curving back of a dinosaur. The dented front door gapes open drunkenly from one rusty hinge, but I cannot see into the …Read More »
I watch my grandmother’s face, waiting for that faint spark of recognition that never comes, hasn’t for years. The same conversation over and over, do you know who I am?She tells me I’m a pretty girl, “Oh look at your eyes.”They told my parents all baby’s eyes are blue but …Read More »
Paco Rabanne? Content continues after advertisement She leans back against the pole; hard metal cold on her skin. Yeah, Paco Rabanne. She poses, pirouette style, in her high high heels. Or Armani maybe. She isn’t sure. Whatever it is the douche in the Tom Ford suit must have taken a …Read More »
I stand alone in a forest of people. Content continues after advertisement When a tree falls nobody hears it, for the foliage is in Connecticut, or Central Park, and I wake up in Brooklyn. I take the train to work, look at my cubical wall and the photographs from the …Read More »
About Natalia Sylvester Born in Lima, Peru, Natalia Sylvester came to the U.S. at age four. A former magazine editor, Natalia now works as a freelance writer in Austin, Texas and is a faculty member of the low-res MFA program at Regis University. Her articles have appeared in Latina Magazine, …Read More »