Fiction

A newly-appointed primary school teacher got off the rattletrap at the pukka road and headed on foot to the village that nestled among the citrus orchards…

Working the Fire Line – Fierce Fiction by Alan MacLeod – October 21, 2018 The first time I saw her we were on the fire line digging a ditch to contain the blaze. “There’s Beth,” someone said. “ Bobby Freeman’s sister and a damn good digger too.” I saw a short, slender woman in her early twenties, wearing a bright… Read More »Working the Fire Line

My mother saw the raccoon first. She was chopping veggies in front of an open window, hoping for a breeze because it was August, and already hot and sticky…

I sat alone at the Shanghai Dumpling King on 34th Avenue in the same seat she always sat in.  I came on a Thursday afternoon the way she always did…

I am six years old and I go to Yeshiva and my name is Moshe. In summer there is an old woman who lives in the radiator in the living room of my apartment.

The place I saw you. How you were walking, squinting, through the slowly-becoming-blinding dawn light. How you carried a large red and white tote bag.

Out of a mall. I have a feeling that I forgot to take something. Something that Lynn crucially needs and I’ll have to visit the mall again. But no.

Staring up at a velvet black sky, we watch millions of stars spark and swirl. On a quilt, soft and worn with years of washing and dreaming, we speak of the fate of humanity…

I have a theory that the nicest rooms, those with the best views, go to the sickest patients. If my theory is correct, I’m fucked. My room is on the second floor…