One-Sentence Stories
Love in the Absence of a Kick-Ass Soundtrack is Not Quite Love
by
Drew Jackson
Miles wanted only to be her middle-aged Lloyd Dobler, but by the time he found the perfect camel raincoat and figured out how to feed his iPod mini through a borrowed Fender Squire practice amp to waft the husky longing of Peter Gabriel through her open second story window, she was swinging a cubic zirconia the size of Barbie doll’s skull and slapping Merlot paint samples on the wall with Johnny Home Equity, who knew an undervalued asset when he spotted one.
Nikkita
by
Andrea Deangelis
He had a bicycle she wanted or it was more than that, he had to be her friend, there was no reason not to but he struggled nonetheless, stammering with reasons on the train back to school but he never said them, the words mashed up against his lips (she could taste their hiss) because he knew he shouldn’t be talking to her that there was something off, something gone rotten, the slight rancid odor exterminators use to kill, underneath the unassuming ocean scent but he couldn’t put his finger on it so she thought he might as well put his fingers in her, slamming her legs, imagining amputation.
Untitled
by
Nicole Taylor
Without holidays how can we celebrate our dysfunctional family, I said to another dance member.
Post-Polio
by
Erin York
"Every step I take today means less for tomorrow," said my father as we toured Disney World.
Wet Anarchy
by
Dan Burt
At the avant-garde athletic competition, the winning anarchic synchronized swimming team flailed in the pool like wet cats, splashed water on the judges, and attempted to drown each other.
Untitled
by
Judy B.
It happened one night - end of story.
Other People's Children
by
Roxanne Gay
What I really cannot handle is being forced to listen to strangers ahead of me ordering their sandwiches at Subway because I come prepared, I am considerate, I don’t order a meal and I don’t need snacks or a drink, I just want my sandwich then I pay and go on my way, but other people, they are indecisive, and without fail, they take an inconsiderate amount of time to make the critical decisions required of them stuttering their requests as if the options have changed since they last checked as if the vegetables and condiments are fleeting commodities, as if there is a wrong answer and they desperately need to be right—in those moments I have to breathe deeply and look at the ground because what I’m thinking about is slamming their heads against the sneeze guard, stepping over their unconscious bodies and ordering my lunch considerately and efficiently.