The Ahava Order is the first book in Robery Przybylski’s series of the same name. This excerpt is reprinted with permission. Copyright (c) 2019 Robert Przybylski, published by Royal Hawaiian Press. *** The Ahava Order Winter life in Anad, a small village situated among forests, was running its usual course. Roe deer searched for food among plants in snow-covered fields, livestock heartily ate hay. For the Mage Azam and his wife, Eva the Enchantress, the day was going to turn out memorable. That morning, just as every morning, their son Zephyr was preparing food for the animals, while his father was getting ready to hunt for Amash—a horse-sized animal with everlasting white fur from the family of Great Wolves. Inhabiting numberous forests, the species hunts alone, pairs off and doesn’t form packs. Azam was about to choose a weapon when the village squire, Bolv, a squat man with a crop of curly hair on his head and a slightly red face—the effect of having consumed…
“Departure,” A Short Story by Bari Lynn Hein
When Chelsea stepped off the school bus on her last day of kindergarten, she handed me a construction-paper card shaped like a necktie. “This is for you, Mommy,” she said. With pink and yellow tempera paint she had filled the tie with flowers, and with black she’d placed the letters M and O over the preprinted F and A in FATHER. I understood, in that moment, that the next two and a half months were to be treasured, that my days of unfettered freedom with Chelsea would be finite. Eventually, I moved the card from my refrigerator to a box on a shelf above my desk. In the years that followed, I added more treasures to the box: a seashell that Chelsea had found at the shore, a rubber Minnie Mouse and Canadian coins from our trips to Disney World and Niagara Falls, a…
“Captain,” A Short Story by Zach Piggott
The pulsing woke him up from his deep sleep. He hated those blaring alarms and had opted years ago for the pulse. It did him wonders back then. Now he hated feeling it. He hoped for a morning where he wouldn’t feel it. He groaned, moving his body under the covers. His fingertips grazed the cool metal that had become familiar to him over the past weeks. He swung his feet over the side, his weary green eyes half opened. Where a partner should’ve been had been empty for six years. Too committed to the military. It was just another excuse. The routine was the same since he had gotten home from his deployment: breakfast, shower, shave, dress and wait. Sometimes he waited all day with nothing happening. Other times he received phone calls. Once or twice he was ushered…
Kira Rice-Christianson — Six Poems
Little White Lies I started carrying around these little white lies; they live here on my face. Like when I ask you a question and your answer seems ingenuine but I smile at you softly, anyway. Or when I fix you a plate and you give me your thanks, and I kiss the side of your head. While inside I scold the woman who does as she’s told, though I lay with her each night in bed. Or when you don’t come home for three nights in a row and I lay awake cracking my knuckles and toes. I picture her holding your body, unclothed. The thought leaves me paranoid, and I look through your phone. I shouldn’t have done that, now I can’t sleep. My body is filled with anxiety and heat. I…
Jarrett Mazza and Michael Piekny Q&A
At The Fictional Café we love writers and love the written word. We want to showcase the best contemporary writing and give our subscribers innovative, thought-provoking works across a whole range of art forms. When it comes to fiction and poetry, every so often one of our Baristas really connects to a certain work and goes the extra mile to help showcase it to our global audience. This was the case with yesterday’s featured story, Knowing, by Jarrett Mazza. One of our Editorial Board members, and Fiction Barista, Michael Piekny, really connected with Jarret’s writing and reached out to see whether Jarrett would be interested in working together on a developmental edit of the story. Jarrett was on board and the two of them worked closely together over several weeks to fine-tune this story of…
“Knowing,” A Short Story by Jarrett Mazza
SOMETIMES I WAKE UP AND forget where I am or how I arrived. We often wonder about our personal truths, our pilgrimages that help us to see who, what we are. At night, when I’m sleeping next to her, I sometimes roll quietly out of bed and stumble into the kitchen to shake off the nightmares I’ve had. I’m bleeding in each one. I can assemble so many pieces of my life and merge them meticulously together and take some time to assess how it’s all going to work before I get back to bed. But we can’t change overnight. We just need time. I suppose the lowest moment, the moments where you could say I wish I was saved became increasingly more frequent. Alone in my two-bedroom loft, before I met her, I found…
“Another Day of Quarantine,” Poems by Michael P. Aleman
Another Day of Quarantine The morning sun bathes our bedroom with soft light on a morning more than serene, a real gift on another day of quarantine. Cool March air via a slightly opened window drifts in. I welcome the freshness of the air and the sunlight. They bring the end of night, and assurance that darkness won’t prevail. The true blessing, of course, is being quarantined with you, having you beside me, the halo of your silver hair soft upon your pillow. The morning air billows the window curtain, offering a badly needed certainty that normalcy remains, will sustain us to the end. I abhor the thought of living through this quarantine alone, for you are bride, lover, companion and friend, and if the end is at hand, we’ll weather it together. I will, however,…
“Traffic Report,” A Novel Excerpt by Eric D. Goodman
Editor’s Note: “Traffic Report” is an excerpt from the novel, Setting the Family Free, published October 2019 by Loyola University’s Apprentice House Press. Copyright, © Eric D. Goodman. This excerpt is reprinted with the permission of the publisher. Traffic Report This is your eye in the sky, the WCHL Traffic Copter. If you’re just now tuning in for the first time today, here’s a word of advice: stay home. You heard me right, folks: authorities have advised everyone in the Chillicothe area to remain indoors today and to stay off the roads. If you’re already driving to work, go back home. It’s a zoo out there—literally. Lions and bears, wild cats and wolves have all escaped from a local animal reserve here in Chillicothe. If you leave your house today, you’re walking into a danger zone….
“The Life and Death of Arthur Miller,” by Andrew Lafleche
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF ARTHUR MILLER or, Damnationem Vita et Humani Conditione Fourteen days after Arthur Miller’s sixteenth birthday, both his parents were killed in an automobile accident when a drunken driver swerved into their lane as they returned home from a night at the theater. Their deaths occurred instantly, and to that effect, neither were able to be presented with an open coffin at their post-life nuptials. The last time Arthur saw his parents alive was in the moments following Sunday dinner, his mother in a dress, glowing, his father dressed handsomely, saying, “When you finally meet the woman who makes the world stand still, son, don’t ever quit doing for her what you did at the start. That way there will never be an end.” Arthur clung to these words in the weeks that followed. He clung to everything…
Fabrice Poussin — Painting the Roses Red
Editor’s Note: This month’s featured artist is Fabrice Poussin, an FC alum from 2018. In this collection, he presents his photography of spray-painted flowers and other objects. But this is no Alice in Wonderland redux. Find out what inspired Fabrice to take on this artistic project. I believe the artist must be like the bright-eyed child. He must seek beauty (what is beauty in his mind) and translate it into his own expression to inspire awe, bewilderment, joy, sadness, endless emotions to the viewer, reader, or listener. If he cannot find it, he must create it. These photos were conceived from a strange gift from a friend. He left me a number of cans of paint. For quite some time I wondered what I may do with those, and it occurred to me, and this…