Streetlight Voices: Short Fiction & Memoir · Still Life with Black Pants and Peppers by Christine Tucker Podcast: “Still Life with Black Pants and Peppers” is a short fiction about endings and new beginnings. A fictional story performed by Jennifer Sims. Read the story online: “Still Life with Black Pants and Peppers” by Christine Tucker Jennifer Sims is an actor and voice over artist who has voiced hundreds of projects across all genres. After attending the American Academy of Dramatic Arts she wandered into a career in advertising. She worked as an ad agency … Continue reading Still Life with Black Pants and Peppers by Christine Tucker→
I sit at the bar at Café Un, Deux, Trois on West 43rd and cross my legs and swivel toward the room glass of wine in hand nylons shining skirt above my knee. I cross my legs and the heel of my shoe slides off just a bit as I raise my toe up and down. I catch a man’s eye at one table then another. I have what they desire but will not get. Mother of two, forty-plus married in the burbs. I love making them want it. It sets me up for the … Continue reading Desire by Molly McKaughan→
Judging a flash-fiction contest is like being let loose in a tapas bar—without the discomfort afterwards. This year’s entries did not disappoint, offering a wide array of fully crafted bite-sized delicacies, making choosing favorites incredibly difficult. We are grateful for every story we read and thank each of our contestants for sharing their talents. We will be running the winning entries in a later issue but in the meantime are pleased to announce “Little Vova*” by P. W. Bridgman for first place, “Unzipped“ by Sheri Reynolds for second, and Jo Riglar’s “Waterfall“ for third. … Continue reading Flash Fiction Winners – 2023→
The Saint Francis Center is hopping this morning, people lined up all jive and jest the addicts and drunks and misfits file in and out, raw around the edges after a weekend of bingeing the guy in the wheelchair out front seems to be singing an opera tune, the high notes run away from him on little feet, dancing down the block the geraniums in their pots flanking the doors wilt from abuse, their dirt used for more and more and more cigarette butts, an urban ashtray above the city din, the air ringing with … Continue reading Richmond, Monday Morning by Debbie Collins→
Among rural Piedmont foothills, coves of the gentle Blue Ridge Mountains, is where I live. There is no incorporated town in the county; the courthouse town has but a few hundred residents. As internet access reaches into the remotest corners and the local newspaper sees its circulation numbers dwindle, it is fortunate that an online Facebook group has been set-up as a community bulletin board. No substitute for Moose Lodge dances, a church chitterling dinner or a Fourth of July parade, but the group serves to disseminate information, both of a general and a particular … Continue reading Reaching Out by Fred Wilbur→
With its double doors swung wide and its mower rolled out and parked beside bags of spring grass seed, the open cemetery shed makes each grave seem yet more sealed, more weighted down by the hard ground, the gardener’s ministrations to the earth’s mere surface exposed, those deep below tended only by the natural force— cleansing as wind on the headstones— of handed-down remembrances until the dead are swept of all particulars except their role with regard to the living, so become blank and beautiful, icons of generational endurance, each clan—when gathered for a new, … Continue reading The Open Shed by Mark Belair→
Something there is that doesn’t love a bridge. At least on Virginia’s Eastern Shore. Oh, when I lived there, we were proud of the engineering marvel that connects the waning end of the Delmarva Peninsula to the Hampton Roads metropolis across the Chesapeake Bay. With two tunnels, four high bridges, and twelve miles of trestle bridge across the mouth of the nation’s largest estuary, the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel is an impressive structure. But natives of the Shore have always viewed it with some ambivalence, much as they have viewed the rest of the land “across … Continue reading A Bridge to Somewhere by Alex Joyner→
In the space of one hour: coma then a blown pupil, extensor posturing. Hemicraniectomy to relieve swelling from a large cerebral infarction. The dura mater could not be closed. On morning rounds, your pupils react to light but you still hold your arms and legs straight. When I press your brow, your feet point down. You stare straight when I turn your head. You still gag when I jiggle the breathing tube. Your wife holds your rigid hand and I say everything possible has been done. She lets go of your hand and whispers you … Continue reading Primitive Reflexes by Thomas Mampalam→
Here are the two things I can remember that together most starkly display the change. The second one was a plastic cooler piled full of striped bass, all dead. The first was when I was younger, maybe seven or eight years old. My parents had a houseguest in from the Netherlands, and we’d shown him the whole city. He played the bells on a Monday night, while the people sat around on picnic blankets and listened, and I ran around the grounds with a friend, chasing the lightning bugs. After the recital my mother … Continue reading Water Ice Was The First One by Andrew Snover→
I grew up studying and using traditional methods and materials in painting, printmaking, and drawing, learning the characteristics and limitations of each. Digital art, using programs such as GIMP and Photoshop, now allows me to use its blending options and the fact that digital paint is never actually “wet” nor will a digital drawing smudge, to combine different methods and schools of painting into a blend that otherwise would not be possible. Old master’s techniques can be combined with alla prima painting, one layer can be abstract expressionist but blended with another which is … Continue reading New Work by Edward Michael Supranowicz→
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