Prose

 

“Erin” by Felicity Fenton

Pouty in black at the hostess stand, freshly tattooed in Velvet Underground lyrics. She wasn’t sure about her boyfriend or whether or not she liked humans with penises, but she was giving them a try. Kiss me, she said. With lip gloss sticky and morning cigarette breath.


“Aftermath” by Samantha Madway

Speak to someone. Give only your first name. Always give only your first name. Access your mental calendar. Try to count backwards to the relevant date. Think that number can’t be right. Know that number can’t be right. Count forwards this time; use your fingers. The number stays the same.


“The Density of the Crowd, During And After the Spectacle” by Patrick Pattillo

I knew I had to respect Hemingway when channeling his eyes.

I shot a male rhino from 70 yards, as it was grazing—with a high-powered Browning rifle.

I brought his head home.


“Requiem for Those About to Live” by Pádraig Ó Meiscill

If you were to ask me why I am starting here, or why here is there, I couldn’t explain. Except that I must start somewhere and it is absolutely essential to write some thing. Frankly, it’s no small miracle that I’m alive. If you asked me tell you what I was wearing or why it began, I couldn’t. Except that it did and what I was wearing caused me to sweat a great deal.