Category: Fiction

"Jack Boot, thin as a rail, black hair to his waist, red bandanna on his head, a joint of dank from my stash in his guitar-playing hands, says to me go to the bone, girl. Go to the bone, Quackie...." by A. J. Atwater ... Read More

"I'd like to clear up some misconceptions now that I'm the proud owner of a Tesla Cybertruck. First off, Jesus Christ, I am not an incel! I have sex a few times a week in my Cyber, and with any luck, a woman will join me in the near future...." ... Read More

When I got the call, I was sitting on the couch with Lucia, our dog. It was late afternoon the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I was boiling cranberries for the dinner tomorrow and they bubbled softly on the stove. The long afternoon sun slid through the blinds, making the TV hard ... Read More

"Sand dollar is a funny name, if you’re a Corpus Christi kid who’s never seen dollars be anything but green-printed paper. When you dig them out of the shallows you’re careful not to scratch yourself on the spiny bristles that will retract once you dry them in the sun...." Jenn ... Read More

Three laps in Callie’s cruising to the sounds of her thoughts since the bosses don’t allow earbuds while working. On Wednesday her therapist said, “Write your thoughts down, Callie. Write them down and reread them each week to see if you’re really dizzy bonkers, as you say.” And then she ... Read More

"Vassar assigned you an ID based on your first initial and last name. Eight hours after flooding my mother’s shoulder with tears, I was shooting billiards with A_Student...." Angela Townsend ... Read More

The two of us lay sprawled in his bed, his white calf socks the only item of clothing between us.… ... Read More

I. Warm vanilla and Queen Helene. Silky, yet rough, gliding against him with profound ease as long painted fingernails scraped his back. They weren’t like the ones he usually saw on women, with intricate designs and beads. These were long, imperfect nails with red varnish that commanded him to surrender. And ... Read More

I heard Quinn’s voice in my left ear while browsing tables at the annual library book sale. She was a friend of a friend of my wife’s. I’d met her only twice before, both times at parties, and hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her. I’d noticed her ... Read More

After I left Edison, I was surprised to see Julie again. / I saw her in a bookstore in Jerusalem. She had that distinct blonde hair that struck my soul and made me pray to her as if she were an esteemed member of The Church of Jesus Christ of ... Read More

“'Is it bad that this kind of headline – ‘Great White Shark with Red Mouth Washes Up on Beach in Rare Incident’ – is what gets me through the day?' I ask my sister...." by Elizabeth Rosen ... Read More

“What is your favorite color?” Cora asked, partially wrapped in twisted sheets ... Read More

I am in pain. I am from an ethnically ambiguous background, an underrepresented community, and my mom was an immigrant from the Middle East. I mean, she is an immigrant. She’s not dead, but she did emigrate to France when she was seven. That’s still trauma. Trauma that passes down from ... Read More

The water is cold against my bellybutton and I’m afraid a waterborne parasite will swim up my urethra. I cup a hand over my crotch. I’d never have thought a pond could feel threatening, but Bruce, Olivia, and Belle aren’t fazed—they’re grinning at the few hundred yards of water rolling ... Read More

He watched the couple through their window until it went dark then stumbled back into the shadows of his driveway and through the moving drift of the banana trees and elephant ears gathered at his front door.... by Taylor Melia Elyse Mahone ... Read More

It was a Tuesday afternoon when Ellen Wong decided to try the newly opened massage parlor five minutes’ drive from home. She heard it was cheap. Daughter at school, husband at work, colors in the dryer, whites in the washer. Honey barking at passing dogs three times her size from ... Read More

There was almost no way to get money. Fay, the Cat Lady, sometimes had a returnable Coke bottle or two to give away if I asked—the large size, twenty cents deposit each. Allowance was seventy-five cents a week, enough for a few candy bars, but I did the math: it ... Read More

My wife told me she was going out with Ashley, Kelly, and Courtney, that she’d be getting some drinks, doing some dancing, that she wouldn’t be home late, “… unless I’m home late!” I said no problem and I’d see her when she got home, that I’d wait up. I ... Read More

“Lunch with the Astronaut of the Day,” the sign said.  Adult:  $100, child: $50, 11:30 and 1:45.  Mirian signed up for the 11:30 slot.... Shanda Connolly ... Read More

Leah, my best virtual friend, is a writer like me. Writers know all the secrets in the world, and we aren’t ashamed to admit it, in writing. Paradoxically, she still knows more than I do. So, I paraphrase to myself the Bellman from “The Hunting of the Snark:” “I’m not ... Read More

“It’s an express,” my father says with a touch of awe. “Much nicer than the train I took when I made The Trip. You’ll be comfortable, they treat you well on rides like this. It’s not an ordinary trip, you know. Just follow the rules and stay the course....” ... Read More

Avital Gad-Cykman is the author of Light Reflection Over Blues (Ravenna Press) and Life In, Life Out (Matter Press). She is the winner of Margaret Atwood Studies Magazine Prize and The Hawthorne Citation Short Story Contest, twice a finalist for the Iowa Fiction Award and a six-time nominee for the ... Read More

She—some folks called her Jill—used to buy love at the shopping mall, but then all the malls died. She probably died, too, but she still went love-shopping ... Read More

"The fox stops, half turns, half stays. The way a fox will, being two things at once and daring both. Mottled coat, those delicate fairy tale feet, one poised as if to point the way, a way for me to follow...." ... Read More

"When I woke from surgery, I wondered where my arm went. / It was still attached, I was assured. I saw it there, hanging from my body...." ... Read More

"Odin’s spear struck Valhalla’s golden floor with a mighty thud, silvered veins of sorcerous power erupting from the point of contact, energy flying electric and jagged to the four corners of his vast throne room. This was One-Eye’s signal for quiet, and I went along. We all went along...." —Kurt ... Read More

Why don’t you bring Ashok over for lunch?” Nadine was an anthropologist and had to get to the bottom of things. All these days and months she’d gotten a second hand account and now she wanted to see the mystery man in person. I somehow knew she’d be disappointed, but ... Read More

On the second Tuesday of January the survivors gather for the annual survivor dance. They gather in the ballroom of the historic synagogue on Ocean Avenue. Like many things, the place is a shadow of its former self. Spanning half a city block, it now sits cavernous and crumbling, like ... Read More

"They were as light and fluffy as the small white clouds that floated across an otherwise spotless blue sky, of which Raffie and Kip had an unobstructed view from the balcony where they feasted on the fried scallops, clams, shrimp, calamari, and other seafood on the frittura platter. Raffie’s father ... Read More

Eckleburg is pleased to announce the Gertrude Stein Award in Fiction winners and finalists. Thank you to all who submitted. It is always a difficult task choosing among such talented voices and storytelling.  Gertrude Stein Award: First Place "Frittura" by Judith Goode Second Place "Little Sister" by Jarrett Kaufman Third ... Read More

Why does his family piss him off so badly? No clue. All he knows is that he wants to scream. He nestles each fly into his tackle box. In the kitchen, his wife makes tuna-and-tomato sandwiches, their fish smell pervading the living room. She fills Ziploc bags with carrot sticks, ... Read More

You cannot go back.  Leah had sketched the words on every scrap of paper, every grocery list, even the coupons she handed over at the store, the newspapers she bound with string and set out for recycling.  They, too, bore her new mantra beneath the bylines—four words from a soft-tipped ... Read More

You’ll stumble over the pronunciation of her name. When you ask your friend Aida, who is Puerto Rican, how to say it, she’ll tell you that she doesn’t know and that all Dominicans.... Kate Scarpetta grew up in Northeastern Pennsylvania and spent her youth playing sports and climbing trees. She ... Read More