A Tiny And Colorful Literary Journal

Posts tagged ‘Jessica Fullerton’

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

Advertisements

Tag Cloud