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Fall Into Winter 2007

"Autumn makes me sing."
(Dorothy Parker)

Fiction>1000 Words

Michael Obilade: My Mother of God
It wasn’t my fault. I promise you it wasn’t. I did not mean to be bad with her, and I did not mean to be bad to my brother. I don’t know why it’s important for you to believe me, but in the way things are, belief is all we have in the end.

Cara Lietuva: A Letter from Han Solo, Marooned by the Australian Government on the Island of Nauru
Han Solo had no illusions about actually digging out of the detainees' camp. Still, he kept digging—a spoonful here, a spoonful there. He was no longer Ihab, son of Halla and Mustafa, husband of Nadia. He thought of himself now as Han Solo, the Star Wars guy.

Margo Ball: Beyond the Baby Blues
I saw Johnny Cash in Franklin Center on my way to the Stop and Shop. There are a bunch of problems with that—the biggest one being that he’s dead...He was sort of shrunk-up and wrinkled like you’d expect for an old guy, but he had that square jaw and crooked slit of a grin that you could never fake.

Hank Kirton: Armless
Mary-Ellen Bissonette had ice-blue eyes. They made Harry nervous, those eyes. When he talked to her, he avoided them, keeping his unsteady gaze bouncing around the office. She had what they used to call bee-stung lips—full, moist lips harboring unspent promises. But she had no arms.

Stephanie Johnson: Faux-Finish
I figure she'll be greeting prospective buyers at the front door, so I let myself in the back. For Sale By Owner, no realtors involved. It's just like her to think she can do everything on her own. She's baked cookies, and classical music is playing. The house feels cozy and warm, nothing like when I lived here.

Neil Crabtree: Somewhere
I met a woman I’d been in love with long ago, coming out of the library. Not recognizing her at first, I was about to give out a reluctant ‘excuse me,’ the type that means ‘you’re in my way,’ when she smiled her big toothy smile and put her hand on my chest. “Move it, mister,” she said, reading my mind.

Jane Ciabattari: MamaGodot
Her parents have taken her to a new town. A tornado blows a sewing machine across the horizon. She is astonished. She wonders who gets it when it lands. She wants it.

Jennifer Vaughn: Train Trestle
The yellowed square of newsprint between my thumb and fingers whips back and forth in the wind. I read it over one last time then turn my back to the wind and flick my lighter until the paper catches on fire.

Jack Galmitz: The Parakeet
“Oh, David. I’m terribly sorry. I was cleaning and I accidentally left the door open. Petey must have flown out. He’s gone.” David looked at the cage, then at his mother. Had she done it on purpose?

Michelle Reale: Now That You've Asked
“Life turn out the way you thought it would?” He swept his large arm around the small kitchen, his furry eyebrows raised, implying that if she thought it had she was nuts.

Fiction<1000 Words

Scott Garson: Seduction
"Who is she?" I ask. He blinks—once, twice. He looks at my face in reflection. "Which of your Saturday birdwatching girls has a crush we must carefully nurture?"

Jamey Genna: Ration Coupons
I went in my ex-husband’s car to the funeral of the boy who shot himself. He committed suicide, which I know is redundant.

Season Harper-Fox: Radio
In the Marks family they’d perfected the art of nonchalant oblivion, of studying whorls in the paneling or counting the squares of tiled linoleum while pointedly ignoring Chris laughing in mad bursts over nothing.

Timothy Gager: Joeseph
I hold the blind blue-lipped boy in my lap.

Creative/Nonfiction

William Kimzey: She Called Back Tonight
She said she would never have abandoned me. I said we'd never know that. She said yes we do. I said, no, you have no idea what it would be like if your husband killed your son.

Sandra Jensen: Sunrise Café
"Have you any experience?"  Akbar asked us. He wore a fire-red suit, a white shirt unbuttoned at the top and a heavy gold choker around his neck with a bullet hanging from it. Becky and I were both nervous as hell.

The We Don't Run Poetry Poetry Section

Because great writing is great writing no matter what shape it comes in, enjoy three poems by Tobi Cogswell: Reckless Abandon, Red Sequined Monkeys, and Poste Restante.

Interview

Matrimony author Joshua Henkin says telling is harder than showing, and writers should always go with their gut.