Fiction
Posted by submission date.
by Benjamin Hale
I chuckled at her name and she explained that her eccentric parents, both lawyers, read too much Gabriel Garcia Marquez on the night of her conception.
Le Café d'Après Midi
by Anthony Lee
Bertrand's benevolence toward the world was in an instant shattered by the leaf that landed into his chowder. An elongated, pale, brown leaf, almost intentionally found its way into his chowder, without even the slightest provocation by a wind―not of any sort. The weather was slightly more than tepid, more than tolerable enough for him to be seated outside on the patio of the café, but he was eating hot chowder nonetheless. Why should he allow the whims of the weather to dictate his appetite?
On Dreams: A Letter to a Childhood Friend
by Matt Doyle
What importance can a thought have? It's posited that a single memory is contained in one brain cell, or so I read. How can one cell be so important when grouped en masse and considered? A lifetime in a spoonful, a teaspoon, a drop? What importance it does have to me, in this moment, is that there are dozens of spoonfuls, hundreds of drops, that make my brain, and one cell could be tapped for a fleeting moment of what I suppose I've come to define as the meaning of this breathing, eating and excreting beyond replication. Others cells lie dormant. Still others dead.
