S N

“A Grisly Thing ” by S N

Submitted to Contest #200

Sibyl drew the portrait above my deathbed. Called it "Centipede Sis'." Grisly thing. I sat for a number of artists before, but none captured the burgundy black of my curls like Sibyl - though, any resemblance frayed with the split ends of the subject. She wanted my chin pointed towards the ceiling. I held it aloft for four hours. Poised. Obedient. I still feel the crick in my neck whenever the AC works too well. There were phones back then. She could have taken a picture. She refused. Said it was different. Said she needed to get "it" r...

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“That Sounds Nice” by S N

“That sounds nice.” Jacey has made another decision. It is as ill-advised as any other but I can no longer muster the breath to say anything besides, “that sounds nice.” “That sounds nice.” I find out that he has finally found a job on the same day he eventually quits. One day of training and he just knew it wasn’t for him. My fingers flex, eager to catch him as he slips, again. I force myself to unfurl sweated fist from their grip on the nothing that is my hold on Jacey’s life. He has a plan, he says. So, I sigh. “That sounds nice.” “That s...

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“The Aftermath ” by S N

Submitted to Contest #186

Is there a name for the line of space between where the ceiling and the standing wall meet? There must be. If I were in construction, I’m sure I would know it like the back of my paint covered trousers. A man enters the white space. It could be called a bathroom, but there is no bath. Just a standing shower. If I were a builder, I would know how long it takes to lay and grout five-by-five-inch tiles upon every surface of a hundred-and-twenty square space. As a laymen who can’t caulk over the ident of an Arrow Pin nail, I am not equipp...

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“He Will Be the Right E/Guy For Me” by S N

Submitted to Contest #185

There is nothing you can say to me that will convince me otherwise. I am undoubtedly in love with Eddie Suzuki-Brown. No, this man is not interested in me. Yes, I understand that fully. But still, I can’t help but think about him every day. Even now, four years after a whole lot of nothing. No contact. No social media peripheral interaction. Nada. He is, I am sure, still as beautiful as ever. I can remember the first time that I noticed him. Short little man with curly hair. That’s all he was at first. A little dude, far to vertically challe...

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“Pink Strands and Graham Crackers ” by S N

Submitted to Contest #185

This story explores themes of Mental Illness and Self Harm. Reader discretion is advised. Everything is pink. And soft. And offensive. Large too, yes. Everything is massive in this room and I hate it. How did she get them in here? “Shoe box,” has been used to described rooms like this, but this pales. This is a matchbox. Half, half of a match box and just as packed. “Sarah! Are you still in there?” mother calls. My breath catches and I kill the light, snuffing out my presence like a damp pinch to a flame. A sudden craving for s’mores ta...

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“Speed of Sound” by S N

Submitted to Contest #181

Many lights sing, a cacophony of assaulting sound. This whole place is an assault. On ears and noses. Eyes.Good.The blare of the multi-colored lights shooting off at random is a great distraction. Seventy-year-old women and their dangling bracelets clink with the buzz of mechanical slot machines and it's enough to drive my headache to migraine land. Another reason to cry. Mid-spring in an Arizona casino and the AC is on full permafrost blast. Not the liveliest of Wednesday afternoons. It will have to do. A handful of those bracelet...

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“Arden + Vida = Crushed” by S N

Submitted to Contest #179

Two people. Their voices like silk. She is brown with hair bleached the burnished gold of firewood. He is peach, his eyes a vein under cool skin blue. “Vida.” “Arden, because.” Her chrome covered chest rises. “And, and I don’t want to be married.” Arden leans back and places a ringed fist to the underside of his pointed chin. It wobbles. His gold-foil beard does little to cushion thin skin from the bite of a rare gem. “Vida.” She coughs. “When did you . . . decide?” he asks. Vida sighs. She sits at the edge of a pickle green c...

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“Convenient Store Christmas ” by S N

Submitted to Contest #178

We arrived at the most ill-placed-for-foot-traffic convenience store that you ever did see. I ran through its sluggish doors. Among the six of us, there was twenty dollars. We would each need to miracle ourselves two gifts: one for Secret Santa and the other for the Grab Bag. I knew right away what I would get. When I was four, my mother handed me seven smackeroonies. Eager to shop like a big girl, my older brother and I braved cold concrete Chicago. I found a palm small, heart-shaped box in Humboldt park. Every upward thrust of its blacke...

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“Room for Me” by S N

Submitted to Contest #177

The frayed cuff of Lanelle Vidal’s gray cotton hoodie slid behind her, rustling up leaves as she paced in front of the local cinema. Car horns from across the street echoed through the parking lot, like the piercing flaps of a bat’s wings in a cave.          “Are you almost here?” Lanelle asked into her mobile phone.          “Yeah, but please go ahead and buy the ticket.”Lanelle refrained from stating the obvious: Charlie was supposed to have...

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“Big Sister Luck” by S N

Submitted to Contest #177

Round the bowl I plod. The task at hand, dishes. Mood: Big sisters lead lives that suck. Big sisters are assigned tasks that big brothers evade without awareness. Luck finds boys like mold finds bathrooms. Insidiously. Darkness infringes on the daylight used to complete my chore. A scream strikes the air at a pitch that rivals the goddess Mariah Carey herself. The bowl slips into a loud collision with the stainless-steel sink. “What the heck?” I mumble. The soft shudder of our double screen door sounds and a bitter chill foreign to the tr...

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“The Factor I Once Understood” by S N

Submitted to Contest #177

Each word spoken ignites in my ear, warm and wet. “Oh - kay, Abuela. I get it, but do you need to yell? I hear you.” I glance at the rearview mirror and mouth ‘help me.’ No use. Conversations in the back of strangers' cars have become playground power trips for Hispanic seniors. No sane rideshare driver would disagree with a chancleta armed granny. “Mija, I have a point. Right, Josepi?” “Abuela, it’s Joseph and you leave him out of this. No tiene nada que ver.” “Oh, now tú hablas español. Miss, ‘I don’t want to speak spanish.’” She...

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“Jacoby Levitating ” by S N

Submitted to Contest #176

“What the actual fuck is happening?” I was standing behind a trash can that smelled of cat piss. I reasoned that the sight before me was the byproduct of ammonia intoxication because people can’t just levitate ten feet off the ground, in the middle of the street, with no chords, ropes, or jet packs. “Isn’t that Jacoby, that weirdo from third period?” Clara questioned beside me. Not only was I not aware that she had been next to me, but I was confused as to why she sounded so calm. It was indeed Jacoby, the most random of people to be perf...

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“Suffer to Sip” by S N

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #176

Of course, it would be painful. My mother has often said that life is not a playground of fairness, and this has served to ground me at every turn. If I have ever wanted anything, especially as much as I want this, it has come at a cost. Discomfort is a fact of life. Watching the girl across from me, hand in bowl and inattentive to the small pink cup next to her, I wait as her pudgy hands plunge in for another hollow round. Will this torture ever end? Just as I think she is about to pull out and slowly devour her last sweet smelling, pea siz...

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“Crushes, Books, and Magic” by S N

Submitted to Contest #176

      This is the place to be and no one else knows it. I hide behind isles of jars. Macon can see me if he dares to look up. His eyes are fixed on a set of century old chess pieces, greened by age.            “I know you’re there.”            My breath stalls as I straighten to creep into the light. “You’re busy. I didn’t think you’d notice.”           ...

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