By Christopher Woods You watched him as he kept messing with the cord that ran from the oak tree in the middle of the yard to the new bird feeder. You thought it would never hang at just the right height to please him. You kicked the ground with the toe of your...
By Kerri Pierce 10:00 a.m. The sky is ominous. Bruised. Like a scraped-up leg. (Like that time she flew off the bike and he came running.) A hidden sun stains the low-lying clouds: green, black, blue, gray, reddish-yellow in places. The sky looks grotesque. (“Your leg...
By Edward H. Garcia “You’re not that kind of Mexican,” his father said more than once. David Alvarez knew that made his father sound like a racist. A more nuanced analysis might have concluded he was an elitist. His father would have said he was a realist. It first...
by m. pinchuk The following was read into the record of the Court of Inquiry by the Clerk, with the assent of the Presiding Magistrate. I verify that I am the Chief Scribe of the Capital City, and I attest to the following: On a day not unlike today, a stranger...
By Kelli Jo Ford When Reney’s adventures through the pumpjack pulse of the oil fields grew old, she’d climb the fence, wrestle the saddle off the Paint, and place the pad upside down to dry like Pitch had shown her. She might sneak an extra handful of sweetfeed to the...
By Roberto Loiederman [Editor’s note: This story picks up a few weeks after the events in Loiederman’s story “Stir Me Gently, but All the Way to the Bottom,” which appeared in the summer issue of the SFWP Quarterly.] The first week Frank...
