M. Sawan

“No More Lasagna” by M. Sawan

Submitted to Contest #104

Evangelista approaches the line of scrimmage and bends over. His fingers throb in the mud. It’s soothing. If only he could stay down here, resting, the game over and Nonna bringing him something sweet. “Lasagna!” yells Coach. “You hear me? Watch 43!” A sfogliatelle. A zeppole. Oh God, her bombolone—

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“Afterparty” by M. Sawan

The best part of being a ghost is the sex. Bro—the variety alone is insane. Everyone is DTF. Everyone. I hit this 17th century chick earlier, some Navajo girl that was just like, “Whatever’s cool with me.” She was a little short, but super fine—super fine. She had that swerve down, that arched back, that ass like unh! We were at it for like two hours, bro, no ...

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“Letter of Resignation” by M. Sawan

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #102

Temple President Silver, As you know, I joined the Church as a custodian—the Sanitation Specialist II. It was a fancy way of saying that I pushed a mop and didn’t have to do toilets. I was happy to have the work, and I again thank you for the opportunity, but it was just a job. I’ve had many like it, and I kept my head down. Some of that was because it’s what I’v...

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“Eggs” by M. Sawan

Submitted to Contest #101

The True-Slip Non-Stick Skillet was a hit. Children screamed, amazed by Chef Benny’s culinary control over the pan. Housewives struggled to stay seated. The elderly cheered the loudest, the vigor of their voices ringing as in youth, subverting the smell of medicine on their breath. “One more time,” said Chef Benny, oblivious to the TV cameras. He swept his arms, pointing at each audience member in turn, ...

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“The Cherry Pie Application” by M. Sawan

Submitted to Contest #100

“Ursula, my child: What is this?” Ursula held her breath. Her future hung on this moment, but Mistress Hazel’s voice was a croak. Her tone was flat, her question unladen with judgement. “Is it good?” asked Ursula. Mistress Hazel only nodded, tossing her spoon to the table. She picked up her bowl an...

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“Vita Aeterna” by M. Sawan

Submitted to Contest #99

Julius examined the lawyer’s check, front and back. It said what it said: $300,000, the address of some bank downtown, and Julius’ name. He pinned the check to his fridge with a magnet and pulled up a chair. He stared at the different fonts, suspicious that they were a sign of inauthenticity. He took the check down and signed it. Julius went to work the next day ...

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“The Lady's Steward” by M. Sawan

Submitted to Contest #98

I arrive at 7:00 AM and drink three beers. I carry my clubs to the first hole and stretch—opening up my hips with a squat, windmilling my arms, using my three iron to flex my lats. My movements are ordered into ten second intervals. The sun rises orange against the grass, vibrant above the slopes where the night denies defeat. I put on my hat. The Men arrive lat...

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