Brittany Mackeown

“Ratio” by Brittany Mackeown

Submitted to Contest #252

Something comes back to me while I’m outside our favorite fancy bistro, waiting on Esperanza to arrive. She’s late as usual. Work is keeping her. Some crisis about one third-party company or another that can’t get their software straight. I wish she was here. It’s been a long week, and date night is what I need—some time with her and just her. When she turns off her work phone and we can just talk.I stare at a text from her. The last one. Gonna be late. You better not be wearing that fuckin bolo.She’s not serious. Well, not really. That...

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“The History of Lila Waters” by Brittany Mackeown

Submitted to Contest #249

Lila was the only one dancing, throwing arms and elbows and hips and knees. Her movements were sometimes outdated: the sprinkler, the disco—one finger pointed to the sky then to the club floor. Then they switched to erotic, her ass pushing out and dropping to the ground, slowly pulling up and grinding against an imaginary someone. Then they turned to erratic—headbanging, moshing. Her body couldn’t make up its mind. Her hair flew like a white swan, coming loose from its bobby pins and bright pink scrunchie.  Silence skittered along t...

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“The Bubble” by Brittany Mackeown

Submitted to Contest #247

Our moon colony had grown in the past few years, expanding past the main hub, which everyone but tourists from Earth called The Bubble. The Bubble was the size of a small city with roughly 250,000 permanent residents, a far cry from when my parents had moved my older brother and me up here. The growth meant more transplants from Earth arriving on a slick galactic cruise liner with their expensive SSRIs and antipsychotics. Which should have meant that Rafael’s epileptic medication would be easier to find, but sellers were on the low beca...

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“Pillows” by Brittany Mackeown

Submitted to Contest #243

Trigger Warnings: mental health, suicide/self-harmThe house was small, the sky blue paint faded to robin’s egg. Haden parked under the carport, the brakes squealing like a newborn. He came around and opened the door for Veronica. She had no idea who he was, and that wasn’t even an exaggeration. She slid out of the car, clutching the strap of her purse. The purse she didn’t remember getting because it hadn’t happened yet. Yesterday, she had been sixteen, sunbathing in her backyard and listening to cavity-inducing pop music from when she ...

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“Loveflush” by Brittany Mackeown

Warning: contains sexual references and strong language On a gray inhospitably cold day in February, 1977, Claire stood helplessly in the florist’s, trying to pick a bouquet out for her girlfriend. Her girlfriend. Her very own girlfriend. A girlfriend who she was getting flowers for on Valentine’s Day.  Which was the right call. Probably. Maria liked flowers, right? How the hell did Claire not know if Maria liked flowers, say nothing of what kind of flowers she liked? Claire should have asked. How hard would it have been to say, “Hey...

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“Endless Winter Vacation” by Brittany Mackeown

Submitted to Contest #189

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Kaori’s break was only halfway over, and she was already on her third cigarette. The butt glowed like the last rays of sunset, pale orange fingers splatter-painting a wall of violet-black. Kaori shivered in her jacket. Flannel did little good against an icy wind and snow melting down the nape of your neck. The weather had been nice today, for the dead of winter. The high, almost fifty degrees. The low, a chilly but doable thirty-five. With a coat. Which she had forgotten on ...

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“The Old Weight of Love” by Brittany Mackeown

Submitted to Contest #162

A wrinkled menu from Punjabi Place sat out on the counter, tucked between a cutting board and the stovetop. In poor handwriting, a short list of ingredients had been written next to palak paneer, denoting the ingredients for homemade tikka masala sauce. Some of the ink had rubbed off from handling, but all of the ingredients were still legible.      Navya squinted at the ingredients. They were all correct, and even though tikka masala wasn’t even close to her favorite “Indian” (tikka masala was more British-Indi...

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“The Waiting” by Brittany Mackeown

Submitted to Contest #158

They could have stayed in the truck, which would have been smart. Snow swirled across the empty parking lot and more was coming down, sticking in their hair and melting on the cigarette they passed back and forth. Sam’s hands were numb. He looked down at them to make sure they weren’t turning blue. No sign of blue, just a little red and chapped like Ronin’s lips. Sam had wondered if they would feel hot like when you have a fever and your body’s trying to stitch you back together, but he hadn’t tried. Sam’s mom was around, decorating the...

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