Archive for January, 2010

Ten months after I miserably-contorted my body beneath the tranquil coat of my deceased dog—the placid autumn sun locking his muscles forever in the desolate expression of his passing— the two-story, haint blue house my neighbors owned, mysteriously burnt to the ground.  Officially, the fire was said to have been started by an over-turned lamp in their son’s upstairs bedroom.  Yet as I slithered through the tree house window days later, strategically studying the semi-scorched windows from the shadows of the tree, I was unaware of the actual damage.  Even though the stench of smoke lingered in the air for weeks— filling our lungs with the irreplaceable particles of their lives— the outward appearance of the slowly imploding house seemed unaltered. (more…)

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The Dazzling Oppression of the Real #9: Alison Hedley

Jude Dillon presents: Alison Hedley

Jude Dillon

Alison Hedley likes to eat books, and then write about them. She is partway through year six of a four year English B.A. at St. Mary’s University College, Calgary, Alberta. God only knows what she’ll do when that’s done.

Alison Hedley works at Caffe Beano.

Alison Hedley falls down a lot.

(Except now that she doesn’t skateboard so much, this is more of a metaphor than a statement of empirical fact.)


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I’m looking carefully at the ice cream flavors listed in a cheerful yellow chalk scrawl above our heads. I don’t understand why making something harder to read is regarded as artsy and charming.  An old man is trying to engage us in conversation. I do my best to ignore him.

            “Where are you guys from?” he asks.  I make a “hmm” sound, indicating that I am busy. 

            Erika fails to take my cue: “I’m from Natick! I used to come here all the time! I love this place!”

            Maybe I’ll get Chunky Monkey. The old man informs us he is from somewhere no one’s ever heard of.  Erika and he turn as a pair and look at me expectantly.

              “I’m from New Hampshire!” I exclaim, with what I believe to be convincing excitement.  I’ve lost my enthusiasm for Chunky Monkey.  I want Purple Cow, I think.  Mostly because of the name.

            “Ohhh!” Says the old man, “You guys just had quite the ice storm!”  I nod.  Apparently we just had an ice storm.  I haven’t been to New Hampshire in weeks. I had no idea.  I make a mental note, quickly to be forgotten, to call my parents. (more…)

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Poetry #115

New poetry by Brandon J. Courtney, DB Cox, John Fleming, Shannon Pell, Echezona Udeze, and Anurag Rudra.


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Prose #114

Issue 114 brings you death and hope.  A shorter round-up of writers than usual, these three pieces hold their own and carry a strong message.  Each a moral dilemma, they will leave you wondering where you stand.  Kick up your feet and let CJ Clayton-Dippolito, GC veteran Richard Godwin, and our Editor’s Pick for “must read twice” author Brendan O’Brien take you on a journey you won’t soon forget.


Brendan O’Brien

Bruce — the bachelor, the firefighter, the terminal cancer victim, the best friend — was a dead man walking.  Who were we to force him down a painful plank of torture?  The kidnapping was planned at his bedside weeks after the diagnosis.  We shared bland food and shed tears.  Curt was opposed from the very beginning but slowly turned the corner at Bruce’s incessant requests.


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Poetry #114

New poetry by Alan Catlin, Walter Conley, Joseph M. Gant, Colin Gilbert, Ananya S. Guha, Michael McAloran, and Ag Synclair


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Prose #113

Welcome to a new year of fabulous fiction.  Issue 113 brings you ghosts, unusual beings and haunting memories.  Kick up your feet and let the words of Rizzy Rodham, Leigha Butler, Michael Brown, Lonnie James, and Jeanette Cheezum take you somewhere special.  Be sure to make another trip back here for seconds on this issue’s Editor’s Pick for “Must Read Twice” by Michael Brown.

Miss Morningside

Rizzy Rodham

It was early morning when I entered the bathroom. As I reached for the light switch, a woman disappeared into the shower curtain. She was clear, like the curtain, with giant red, blue and green polka-dots. But she was there.

And then she wasn’t.


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