Sydney Nyberg

“The Intersection of Balfour and Aloma” by Sydney Nyberg

DAY 1:The world looked sepia tone, like a muted filter hung over the sun, casting everything in a dusty, yellow hue, the leaves of the bushes that decorated the front of the townhouses, now a puke green, and the sidewalk was an ashen, jaundice color. Ashley walked down the steps from her front door and squinted into the distance. She could see the sun glimmering off the cars soaring past the intersection on the road up ahead. It was as if this anomaly of color was localized to her block. She sucked in a deep breath and lo...

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“Seethe” by Sydney Nyberg

Submitted to Contest #272

She’s bent over at the waist, her head half under a high-top, while she scans between the legs of the chairs with the flashlight on her phone. The indignity of it all, how far she’s fallen. If you put in the effort to be better, things are supposed to get better—like cosmic karma or some shit like that. But instead, she’s pandering to rude guests and a child-manager, who put her on blast in the work group chat, like everyone doesn’t know who closed last night. Like everyone doesn’t know who she’s signaling out. Hey, ...

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“Food You Can Trust” by Sydney Nyberg

Submitted to Contest #270

It’s a damn shame what’s happening to food in America. But the bigger shame is the people funneling in and out of the grocery stores, like cattle, lining up to get their steroid shots not knowing the true cost of their quick treat and promise of dinner. Not even the so-called “healthy” food choices are safe anymore, most of them chalked full of mono- and diglycerides, phosphoric acid, potassium sorbate, and on and on and on, all to extend shelf life and cut down on productions costs to satiate the corporate greed that has consumed ...

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“For All Your Blending Needs” by Sydney Nyberg

Submitted to Contest #269

In the early days, back when their arguments were nothing more than petty squabbles, Adrian laughed about her morning smoothie, saying he knew she put extra ice in there the mornings after they fought. Leslie would smile coyly and admit satisfaction at knowing it woke him up, and he’d laugh and wrap her in kisses, being sure to add, a sharpness in his voice, “I’d never do that to you. Make all that noise when I know you’re trying to sleep.” And she’d pout, “I try so hard to be quiet.” He’d smile at her and say, “You’re lu...

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“It Is What It Is” by Sydney Nyberg

Submitted to Contest #268

CW: References to substance abuse, addiction, infidelity, and mental health struggles.“The hardest part of getting clean are all the damn apologies, paying tolls on bridges that I’ve burned.” It’s a line from the Cameron Whitcomb song Quitter. I played it for my sponsor Gina, after a meeting one Sunday night while we sat in a Steak ‘N’ Shake across the street from the church where we met. She told me that I’d come to the part in my recovery that it was time to make amends. She’d let me get away with skipping this step fo...

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“Don't Sneeze” by Sydney Nyberg

Submitted to Contest #267

“They found you in the parking lot behind Panera,” my sister said, standing beside my hospital bed. I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to say—this wasn’t even my darkest moment, far from it, just the only one her and my mother were privy to, because Frank was up in Michigan—so I just said, “Oh.”“I guess the drive-thru worker was taking orders and noticed you laying there on the ground and called 9-1-1. And she saw your shirt and figured you worked next door, so she went and told them so that they could call your emergency contact, bu...

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“Not The Chickens ” by Sydney Nyberg

Submitted to Contest #262

It was noon by the time Jesse finally got out of bed, when the heat in his room had become unbearable and even the air seemed to stick to him like a thin film of mucous. He hadn’t stirred once in the night and into early morning, and as he pushed his way through the ripped screen door out to the front porch, he wondered if a fox had gotten the rooster. “Y’all seen Mohawk?” he asked. His brother, Joe, sat reclined on the porch steps, one arm propping up his head, while the other held a whittled twig that he used to pick at his ...

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