An unexpected visit has divine implications in Josh Rank's short story "Son of God".
He was not my son. I knew that right from the start. But the question of who the father was had haunted me for years. Who was the son of a bitch that ruined my marriage, my chances at living the happy life I had wanted for so long? Now I had my answer.
Peter Clarke with the unique flash fiction story "Southside Park".
Most kids, I’ll admit, started out with pictures of hearts and flowers and smiley faces. But these kids, I knew right away, were independent thinkers if I’d ever seen any. When no one was looking, they’d sneak a hand down their pants or up their nose and scribble an explicit sex aphorism they couldn’t possibly have understood.
Christopher James shocks and teases with the intense, erotic short story "Of Small Talk at Parties and Everything Else".
"For a while, I started to think I’d never get to bring the sexotron home, and I even briefly considered unwrapping it at work, coming to the office early (or staying late) and using it then, in the bathroom on the tenth floor. Luckily for me, the sexotron, and the tenth floor bathroom, my wife finally said one of her hospital appointments would certainly run late, meaning she’d not get back until gone seven. I brought the sexotron home."
Andrew Davie explores the world of amusement park workers in his short story, "Furry".
The head stared back at him now, disproportionate features, leering at him, reminding him of his lowly status. A cartoon tiger, crudely stitched together, with a giant red tongue flopping from its mouth, the head cruelly mocked him; he imagined a high pitched voice using ironic phrases from television.
J.D. Kotzman with the flash fiction piece, "Eidolon".
I take a sip of my coffee and pull the focus in tighter on the woman, X’s doppelganger, still tracking her as she totes a cup of steaming tea along the far wall, toward a canvas print of my favorite van Gogh painting (X’s too, a copy hung above her fireplace). When she hits her mark, appearing to stop casually to examine the piece—a brilliant nighttime rendering of a sidewalk café, its illuminated terrace and façade brushed in pale shades of yellow and green, crowned by a deep blue, star-studded sky—I find myself wishing I could freeze the frame, capture it somehow. But I can’t.
