“Best of 2016” stories were selected for their use of unique language, breadth of story in so few words, emotional impact, and the complex and original relationship of the titles to their stories.
Congratulations to the contributors for spinning these powerful pieces that made 2016 sparkle here at Nailpolish Stories. To NS readers and contributors alike, enjoy, be inspired, and thank you for supporting the journal.
Two pieces by Mureall Hébert
Rich In Heart
$4,500—an honest accounting error
Franny lined her mattress
too jittery to spend a dime
and spent her nights
sleeping like a queen
He groped me during our second date. Bamboo’s Circus. Threadbare lions, two drunk clowns, and a half-naked lady riding bareback. Gold paint can’t change anything.
Mureall Hébert lives near Seattle. Her writing has appeared in Lunch Ticket, Crack the Spine, and Bartleby Snopes, among others. She’s co-editor at Whidbey Writes. You can find her online at http://www.mureallhebert.com and @mureallhebert
Yukon Gold by Krystyna Fedosejevs
Family stories of a rush for vanity abound. His uncle panhandled waters for Yukon gold. All he can afford are potatoes of the same name.
Krystyna Fedosejevs writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published online and in a number of magazines, including: Nailpolish Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.
Need Sunglasses? by Tyrean Martinson
Promenade vendors pushed dark, plastic lenses. I chose a ladybug pair, covered my eyes, and waited for the end flash, a future that blinded us.
Tyrean Martinson, everyday writer, has three story collections out, some experimental fiction, and three novels. She’s a believer and a daydreamer. Find her online at http://tyreanswritingspot.blogspot.com/
Two pieces by Madeline Mora-Summonte
Headstones jut, teeth to snap her back. The open grave, a dark maw eager to gulp, to swallow. But still she drifts, rootless yet trapped.
Jenny lost a shoe, but she is no Cinderella. She shucks her prom dress, weaves into the water. On the sand, her broken tiara glitters.
Two pieces by Gemma Bristow
I’m Not Really a Waitress
Perform perfectly, and I’m invisible. Circulate canapés. Rescue empty glasses. ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Yes, ma’am.’ ‘Goodnight, my lord.’ They won’t remember me from the evidence tapes.
Our last meeting. She made the usual charges: emotional distance, narcissism. ‘You never knew me,’ she said. Untrue. I knew how she liked her coffee.
Gemma Bristow is a technical writer and writer-writer. She survives on a diet of fingernails while submitting her first YA novel.