August 3, 2017

“My Last Night in Paris,” a Short Story by Sandor Blum

“My Last Night in Paris,” a Short Story by Sandor Blum

When I become incensed at prejudice, I tend to fight back with an edge of cynicism aimed at cutting through to someone’s stupidity. I am always hopeful that I can be an educator rather than a warrior against bigotry. George, a French Jew who had come to America, had told me of the growing anti-Semitism in France and the French collaboration in the deportation of his family from Lyons to the WW II concentration camps. He had grown up with French anti-Semitism, had witnessed the attack on Jo Goldenberg’s Jewish delicatessen, battled to defend Israel at the Sorbonne and finally—fed up and exhausted—convinced his family to move to the US. It was the late 1980s. I was scheduled to meet with the president of a French firm to discuss his acquisition of my client’s company….

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July 23, 2017

Three New Poems by John Grey

Three New Poems by John Grey

Editor’s Note: John Grey graced our ‘zine with his poetry last year. Here are three new poems from his pen, and in August we shall publish three more, so you can savor each one.   THE WEDDING RING   The rotten end to a wrecked season, footsteps bring no redemption   no resurrection as wet grass on the feet merely adds to the machinery of bitterness   until I come across the river whose undermining poverty is quieted by discovery   of something illicit in the shore-weeds – a dead wedding ring   glistening like bone – it’s been lost or tossed – why not?   everything on earth finds itself in the same situation.   * BRAIN MATTERS   The question arises – do I really need all this?   I can live in…

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July 18, 2017

Channie Greenberg Returns With A New Story

The Price of Cheap By KJ Hannah Greenberg Nathan chose a cheap flight to Kobarid. Seeing the Julian Alps had long been on his bucket list. He planned to sleep the ten hours from JFK to Ataturk, to remain inconspicuous in Istanbul, and then to make friends on route to Ljubljana. With luck, he’d score a night on some local’s sofa before traveling from the capital to the mountains. Nathan believed himself sufficiently charismatic to succeed. Hearsay about Slovenian tourism suggested that a stranger’s room would be equivalent to a fee-driven guesthouse. By taking advantage of complimentary accommodations, Nathan would save enough cash to hire a guide to accompany him to the Kozjac Waterfalls and on the Alpe Adna Trail. It was foolhardy to tour remote places alone. Unfortunately, at Ataturk, instead of deboarding, Nathan’s…

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July 10, 2017

“Lost Howling,” A Short Story by Christin Rice

“Lost Howling,” A Short Story by Christin Rice

They ran, the four of them, hand in hand. It was the only way they could get from this place to the next. Despair rose in the thicker woods as one became wrapped around a tree, whiplashing the group in the onslaught. But on they ran, recovering themselves, never breaking their grasp to dust off their muddy knees. The terrain was an endless, mountainous wood. Neverending. But there is nothing more determined to race home than a Howling. Howlings are almost always children, amorphous in their gender until they make a choice at age 18—if they make it to that rare age—and despite their name they very rarely howl. But when they do, you don’t want to be anywhere near. It is the sound of universes shattering and will consume your eardrums by snaking up…

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July 6, 2017

“The Mahogany Box,” a Short Story by Karen Trappett

“The Mahogany Box,” a Short Story by Karen Trappett

The Mahogany Box by Karen M Trappett The movement sent waves across her belly, like little fish weaving and darting amongst the piers of a jetty, pushing gently up through the layers of her woollen skirt and reaching her gloved hands resting lightly on her lap. Holding her breath through the crest, she looked down and attempted to catch a glimpse of the creature currently using her body as a gymnasium. A soft smile made the corners of her mouth crinkle, and she felt the contours of her bump. Was that a foot, or a hand? Crimson leaves glistened, moisture dripped onto her knitted hat and the shoulders of her coat. A bedraggled sparrow appeared to keenly observe her, then shivered. Hearing her little ones, she hopped to an inner branch and disappeared; thoughts of…

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