Road Trip with Anne Brontë Declivities, she says, and luster of August. Everything becomes scenery when one must paint. A blessed single life is declared, but the narrative is decidedly nonlinear; there is refusing and there is wanting. I think of Wildfell as a truck stop—someplace you can see from a great distance but don’t…
Micro Prose: Art in Asylum by Eben S. Schwartz
Art in Asylum The halls are taupe and evergreen, as if someone gutted a pine tree and stretched it on tenterhooks. Every eighteen feet a poster of a landscape hangs, smothered in Plexiglas and set in a frame screwed tight to the wall. When we move to town, my wife says our house looks like…
Micro Prose: Reptilian by Tyler Gillespie
Reptilian Reptilians either evolved on Earth & left when they mastered intergalactic space travel or they’re from a planet in the Draco constellation & flew here to imprison all humans. I learned this on YouTube: fell into a video hole of people dissecting movie stills in which Reptilians give glimpses of their true form like…
Micro Prose: Husband or Electric Light by Melissa Goode
Maybe you hear a bell, heard it for years, clang-clang-clang. You sit on the floor, legs in a deep V, lean across to your left ankle.
Micro Prose: They Might Be Violent by Ramona Reeves
She supposes plenty of hunters enjoy what they do rage-free but wonders if this isn’t worse. Maybe, she thinks, we are all predator and prey.
Micro Prose: The Founding of Rome by S. Craig Renfroe Jr.
The Founding of Rome I’m trying to feed baby girl, and she shakes her head, slaps the spoon from my hand, raspberries away any puree I manage to force into her mouth. I give myself a time out, but it doesn’t help. “You have to eat!” I come at her again. This time she shields…
Micro Prose: Office Pet by Amber Wheeler Bacon
I pray for a fire. It would break the monotony of telephone rings and the buzzing of the damned lights.
Micro Prose: Saturday Morning by T. J. Butler
Later, the girls stand in front of the open refrigerator, slightly feral: slices of cheese torn from plastic, pickles from the jar, a swig of Hershey’s syrup, jelly scooped out with a finger.
Micro Prose: For Witches by Adam McOmber
For Witches Ohio, 1994 Here is a language for witches. No. Here is a language for high school. No. Here is magic in all its occult guises. No. Here is high school in all its occult guises. No. Here is a hallway in a high school. The floor is gray linoleum. Lockers line the walls….
Micro Prose: Dollar Store, Yes by Suzanne Richardson
Dollar Store, Yes The checkout girl is fecund with child, and her neck is so finely dappled with the unmistakable constellations of hickies that when she asks you if you want more (more chips because you have one bag, and it’s two for one), you automatically say “yes,” because clearly this girl is teaching you…
