Grace’s Tree
by Selen Ozturk
Paul asked me to kill a tree. I needed a permit under the Marin County Municipal Ordinance Code §223.24. I shat and ate permits at this point.
Sunday Stories: “Grace’s Tree”
Sunday Stories: “Mouse”
Mouse
by Jesse Salvo
Sofia says that I am not in love with her and to please stop showing up at her house. I should clarify that it is not her house and anyway I was invited and we are all I think at least capable of love.
Sunday Stories: “What a Ghost Is”
What a Ghost Is
by Andrew Graham Martin
We lowered our chicken tenders as one. A glob of barbecue sauce dripped off the end of mine and fell with a splat onto my crotch.
“A man?” Leigh asked her mom.
Sunday Stories: “After You”
After You
by Alex Treuber
I was nineteen years old when I started following people. The first was a young man holding a bouquet of flowers with tears running down his cheeks. I followed him down to the docks and watched from afar as he ripped the heads from their stems and tossed them into the current where they floated away like paper sailboats. As he wailed into the gray wind I felt something inside me settle into place, an overwhelming sense of warmth and solace, and that night I dreamed I was walking down the aisle in a great white wedding gown made of roses.
Sunday Stories: “Cat Rituals”
Cat Rituals
by Alex Behr
- Please empty the litter box. He pees a lot. Play the game called “Find the prize” every day with the scooper thing. There are lots of prizes!
Sunday Stories: “Righteous Kiss”
Righteous Kiss
by Joe Aguilar
I’m standing in a musty side room beside the cafeteria at my five-year high school reunion, looking at our friend the goldfish, when I start to wonder about kissing.
Sunday Stories: “I Went to Paris Because I’m a Writer Now”
I Went to Paris Because I’m a Writer Now
by Kobi Ansong
My phone buzzes. A text from the homie: Ay bruh, you in Paris reading books? lmao
I wander over footbridges and cobblestone streets.There’s perpetual cigarette aroma, but you don’t mind it. I read Ernest Hemingway’s memoir, Moveable Feast, about his misadventures bumming around the City of Light, getting drunk with Picasso and F. Scott Fitzgerald, and that was enough for me.
Sunday Stories: “Hans and Gretchen”
Hans and Gretchen
by Terena Elizabeth Bell
Once upon a time, there was a set of twins named Hans and Gretchen who lived on New York’s Upper East Side. Not the Yorkville part of the Upper East Side where the poor and old people lived, but Carnegie Hill off Park Avenue. They lived in two 735 square-foot apartments that were side by side in a doorman building their parents bought for them after they dropped out of Columbia.