The World Baseball League was born in the sixties in our suburban home in Virginia. My kid brother and I invented it on a sweltering Fourth of July. It was a heroic invention—a vehicle by which two nerdy kids might share the aura of champions. Armed with dice, meticulously drawn charts, and a cardboard baseball diamond, Robbie and I commanded the destinies of twenty baseball teams. We played daily throughout the long hot summers—up to six games a day—and we tweaked team standings and player averages after every game. So absorbed were we in horsehide heroics that we rendered the summers neither long nor hot. Our rosters consisted of four hundred individual players each represented by a 2” by 2” square of cardboard. Batting averages, fielding percentages, slugging potential, and base- running speed were recorded on each of these squares along…
“Finding Progressions in Mere Lists,” by M. A. Istvan
finding progressions in mere lists when none of the facts so integral to who you are can be reached absenting oneself from a situation by fainting sitting on a wood fence for hours in hope that a new face will show itself to talk failures loom larger in places where little else is around pinching the tongue of one seizuring the flood displacement would have been a glorified camping vacation had he not learned of her betrayal feigning knowledge of facts mentioned in an offhand tone as if you knew them already thoughts of suicide to stay in the game when mere to-do lists fail making the position clear threatens to make it vulnerable even the sexual organs of family are open for dinner conversation once…
“BugSplat,” A Short Story by Karen Lethlean
So boring. No one her age. Already run out of books. Less to do than being at home. Sandra felt her feet get heavy in loose beach sand as she tried to dispel inertia by taking a walk. “Get out and find something you enjoy. Nature is therapeutic you know.” Why the hell did her mum think therapy was required? Strange how once upon a time she and her father wandered along these same beaches, christened these walks Morning Explorations and set the task of finding The Most Terrible Thing washed up overnight. Now Sandra stared out at water, twisting her hair or shooting an imaginary gun at squawking gulls. Couldn’t even get much of a signal on her phone. Limited people about. Not even any good waves to attract surfers. Cute blonde boys she…
“Incompletist,” Poetry by Tom Pennacchini
Incompletist It’s all a bit sketchy don’t you know what with the RMS and all. Formal education and I didn’t work out but I was on my way across the country to fulfill my own peculiar and particular manifest destiny which at the time (at the time)? was a semi – conscious state of befuddled uncertainty laced with a lack of pragmatics that was nothing short of utter ineptitude. (Oh essential humor I laugh to myself now at the notion of then going clear across the country to maintain my standards and my continuous quest for success in failure). We arrived at the train station and said our goodbyes. After you left there was a welling and a filling and at the same time a depletion of air. I rushed outside after a constricted couple of…
“Seal on the Run,” A Short Story by Ewa Mazierska
Whenever Robert and I travel to Scotland, to our house in Aberdour, we go for a walk towards Kirkcaldy, where one can see seals lying on the rocks. Sometimes we are accompanied by a friend named Scott, who spent many years in the British base in Antarctica. He entertains us describing the lives of different types of seals. What all of them have in common, however, is that they are patriarchal. Dominant male seals take possession of their territory by forcing other male seals to lie down in submission and fight with those who dare to challenge their power. Once these macho males announce themselves as winners, female seals start climbing to the beaches, waiting to be impregnated. In this way, their life in harem begins. It is a slow and passive life: waiting for…