A Tiny And Colorful Literary Journal

Archive for January, 2013

January

Fairy Dust by Chris Fradkin

“Fairy dust,” my mom said as it floated through the air, sifting upward, all a-spiral—when the winds blew from the rendering plant in Baker.

Chris Fradkin writes from Central California. His work has appeared in Storyglossia, Monkeybicycle, and Thrush Poetry Journal.”

 

 

China Doll by Madeline Mora-Summonte

The plane flamed, then crashed into the lake. Divers discover a singed china doll still strapped in a seat. It’s the only body they recover.

Madeline Mora-Summonte reads, writes and breathes fiction in all its forms.

 

Four pieces by Hannah Thurman

Crushed

The foreman didn’t sound the call loud enough, people said later. But

I knew I’d seen her smile as she walked into the demolition zone.

Going Green

After she left, I threw away her canvas grocery totes and began asking

checkout girls to double bag my toilet paper. Fuck you, sea turtles.

Shrimply Divine

We de-veined them at the sink, waiting for someone to apologize first.

Later, I rubbed a lemon on my hands and hit an unseen wound.

Sand Shimmer

Bits of mica, broken glass, worn down crystals, dirty needles,

aluminum snippets, plastic, change, oil, water, silt. Like many

things, more beautiful from far away.

 Hannah Thurman is a writer living in Brooklyn, NY. She has work

forthcoming in Fiction 365, The Eunoia Review, and The Rusty Nail.

 

 

 

 

Three pieces by Rafi Miller

Yoga-ta Get This Blue!

1 white shirt with yellow armpits to 30 spandex’d sex queens.

She lives in child’s pose, buries her face in her knees.

“Wrong,” says teacher.

You Only Live Twice

For lunch: beer and double-bacon cheeseburger.  Swollen stomach, onion breath.

(He dumped her this morning.  He wants someone less responsible, more reckless).

She orders another.

Romeo & Joliet

“You’re sweet,” she sighed while he kissed her thigh.  “But do you remember my name?”  “Yeah,” he mumbled into her skin.  She didn’t ask again.

Rafi Miller is an almost 21-year old studying plants and bird activity in the Pittsburgh area. Sometimes, she walks through labyrinths and eats gluten-free bagels. Not at the same time, though. She’s working on not multi-tasking.

 

 

Happily Ever After by Gary S. Watkins

His heart–not broken–abscessed

by her words and emotion until it burst. 

His hands clasped her throat,

stilled her voice,

started the healing.

Gary S. Watkins is a middle school teacher living in the Arizona desert. The long, searing summers of Phoenix will almost certainly inspire additional fictions, and not all of them fever dreams.

 

 

 

 

Two pieces by Jessica Fullerton

 Pink Punk

Wearing a hot pink dress in the black-clad crowd, she looked like a Britney Spears fan and not the screamy lead singer of Herniated Disc.

Shiny Dancer

She’s dipped and dappled, with the light reflected on prismatic pirouetting. She’s a fluid shadow in the mirrors, a silhouetted changement, a sun-soaked tour jeté.

Jessica Fullerton is a recovering grad student, happily embracing non-scholarly writing having just finished her master’s thesis. She is also her friends’ My Size Barbie.

 

Two pieces by Jonette Stabbert

Got the Blues for Red

 The freckled fingers of his large hands tenderly touch and stroke.  Heartbreaking sounds follow, accompanied by my tears. How I wish I were his guitar!

  I’m Not Really a Waitress

 Five years waiting tables. The uniform flaunts my fake cleavage. The clientele is very generous.  Soon I’ll have enough saved for my sex change operation.

Jonette Stabbert lives in the Netherlands. She keeps polishing her writing and sending it out.

 

 

 

 

Glass Slipper by Victoria Large

These shoes might crack if she gained an ounce. Shatter if she stamped her foot. They suited the small and demure. They didn’t fit her.

Victoria Large is a previous Nailpolish Stories contributor whose work has appeared in a number of print and online journals, including Blink Ink, Cafe Irreal, matchbook, The Molotov Cocktail, and Wordriver.

 

 

 

 

Three pieces by Chelsea Covington Maass

 Who Needs a Prince?

Beast likes his porridge cold, his lady hot boiled, muy caliente. The world serves Beast what he wants. His lady perfects breakfast wearing red lingerie.

 Motherboy

Stardust wishes and moonbeam dreams illumine her wistful mind: our mother Earth, old as time and round with lava boy. His eminent birth—violent—beckons.

 Art is Hard

But collectors know rough bark beauty leads to sweet center sap:

·         Bore deep hole.

·         Fit spout tight.

·         Collect amber essence of ancient living creature.

·         Consume.

Chelsea Covington Maass lives in Philadelphia and studies creative writing at Rosemont College. You can follow her on Twitter @chelseasfiction

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Best Of 2012.

“Best Of” pieces were chosen for their unique language, breadth of story in so few words, emotional impact, and the complex and original relationship of the title to its story.  One story was selected from each monthly issue, and their bios as they appeared when originally published follow.  Congratulations to all the contributors!

 

 From January

Tangerine Scene by Helen Vitoria

In the piazza, Elenora hides from the downpour.  Above from the veranda the tangerines fall.  She remembers the weight and never felt this small before.

Helen Vitoria lives and writes in Effort PA.  Her work can be found and is forthcoming in over fifty online and print journals including: elimae, PANK, MudLuscious Press, >kill author, Poets & Artists Magazine, FRIGG Magazine and Dark Sky Magazine.  Her chapbooks: The Sights & Sounds of Arctic Birds and Random Cartography Notes are available as e-chaps from Gold Wake Press, 2011, BLACKWATER: A PNEUMATIC DISTURBANCE is available from Red Ochre Press, 2011.  Her first full length poetry collection: Corn Exchange, is forthcoming from Scrambler Books, Winter 2011. She is working on a novel(la) in verse: Amsterdam. She is the Founding Editor and Editor in Chief for THRUSH poetry journal. Find her here:  http://helenvitoria-lexis.blogspot.com/

 

 

From February  

Deep Space by Bl Pawelek

I taste my wife’s lips as the dawn sets. God’s love rests in my breast pocket. “Go on.” It does as instructed, my eyes closed.

Bl Pawelek is a dad, hiker and writer. He grew up on a small Japanese island (kinda true) and wonders if his Master’s Degree in Literature was worth it (still not sure). There are stories, poems and plenty of art (Google search). The Equation of Constants and Ten Everywhere and the unfirm line. He tries to show mad love to everyone, especially you

 

From March

O’Hare & Nails Look Great! by Lisa Otter

Whenever we knew that someone’s dad was flying out, we’d lie on our backs in G.G. Rowell Park making letters with our bodies. HELLO DAD.

Lisa Otter grew up across the street from G.G. Rowell Park in Lincolnwood, IL and now lives in Charlotte, NC where she dabbles in a great many things including rubber stamping, writing and photography. Her dream job?  Master creator of nail polish colors for OPI.  Check out her newest project, a 365 blog with help from her iPhone, at http://365iphonepictures.blogspot.com

 

From April

In My Back Pocket by Hannah Karena Jones

I keep paperclips and ticket stubs and Post-Its folded four times over and abandoned shells that don’t whisper ocean sounds in my ear and you.

 

Hannah Karena Jones is an Assistant Editor by day and a YA, fiction, historical, and memoir writer by night. Her work has appeared in Weave magazine and The Susquehanna Review, among others, and her book, Byberry State Hospital, is forthcoming from Arcadia Publishing. She maintains a blog at http://thewwaitingroom.wordpress.com/

 

From May

 Atomic Orange by Katherine Lopez

The sky splashes bright orange over the sea. You wish it were cold, a smoothie. Instead it’s hot as the air, tainting fish, ships, beach.

Katherine Lopez writes stories, poems, essays, articles, blog entries, letters, notes, and doodles. Some of which are published.

From June

Her Intelligent Constellation by David Tomaloff

 The word star in all its connotations; how summer sinks its teeth into waiting skin. Which boy is your favorite? she asks a faceless sky.

David Tomaloff is a writer, photographer, musician, and an all-around bad influence. His work has appeared in several anthologies and in fine publications such as Mud Luscious, A-Minor, >kill author, PANK, and elimae. He is the author of several chapbooks, including 13 (Artistically Declined Press), and A SOFT THAT TOUCHES DOWN &REMOVES ITSELF (NAP and Red Ceilings Press). His book of collaborative poetry with Ryan W. Bradley, YOU ARE JAGUAR, is due out summer 2012 from Artistically Declined Press. He resides in the form of ones and zeros at: davidtomaloff.com

 

 

From July

Smoke by Bruce Harris

The trouble began with three words, “Have a light?” There were matches in the ashtray. He grabbed one. Now, he trades cigarettes to stay alive.

Bruce Harris enjoys relaxing with a Marxman.

 

 

From August

Orange Pop by Joanna M. Weston

He’s my rib-tickling, joking Grandpa, who juggles apples, goes sky-high on the playground swings, and has pockets full of orange jujubes–just for me.

Joanna M. Weston is married; has two cats, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Those Blue Shoes’, published by Clarity House Press; and poetry, ‘A Summer Father’, published by Frontenac House of Calgary. Her eBook, ‘The Willow Tree Girl’ at her blog: http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/

 

From September

Show Me The Ring by Bruce Harris

The payday was smaller than the town. Whatever. For the first time, I was clean. “You ready?” my trainer asked. I responded with four words.

Bruce Harris enjoys relaxing with a Marxman

From October

Love Me Tender by Dan Hart

After school, I douse my nails with polish remover and rip the rainbow freedom rings from my neck.

At home, I must not be me.

Dan is an engineer working, reading, and hiking in Silicon Valley, where he is happy to be himself.

 

From November

Blue Glow #7 by Eric Suhem

 He never felt more purposeful, being used as a polo mallet in the game of the gods, whacking a blue ball over the horizon glow.

Eric Suhem dwells in office cubicles and ocean waves. He can be found in the orange hallway (www.orangehallway.com).

 

From December

Potato Fields by Shawn Murtagh

Two overalls filled with boy and girl dash through potato fields; he crashes, she raises him, he rests on one knee, and will again someday.

 Shawn Murtagh’s wife can give herself a professional french tip and it saves him 50 bucks a month. His vision-blog for an E-Zine that will captivate, motivate, and challenge the youth of the world can be found at http://catalystlit.blogspot.com/

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