Congratulations to Juliet Waters, the winner of the 2013 3Macs carte blanche Prize for her work of nonfiction, Bluefooted, published in Issue 19.
Ignored, neglected, or viewed as simply utilitarian by most, the inanimate objects that litter the contemporary landscape reveal more about ourselves than we’d care to admit. I am fascinated by [More…]
To his surprise, the room was empty. He examined it: paper shredder full of documents sealing the company’s fate; furniture transformed into coasters for half sipped bourbons; cigar butts botched on the carpet like little islands surrounded by ash waves; smoking chair cushions gutted and turned on their sides, and the window opened wide inviting the harsh January draft.
Of course we were in the basement of Southwest Community Baptist, again. I guess that’s what happens when you fall asleep at the wheel for the fifth time. Or maybe [More…]
I climbed the stairs and placed the green bin on the landing. I unlocked the door and leaned down to pick up the bin. There were a few papers in it, probably thrown in by passers-by after the recycling had already been picked up. Flyers, an electricity bill. One sheet caught my eye. It had been crumpled up, but I could still make out the handwriting.
The light in the ship’s dining room was low, and I suppose the empty bottle of red wine also had something to do with it. But when I looked into [More…]
Ana rolls onto her side, peels the comforter off of her torso, and lies there waiting to feel November fall into her skin. She lies there half exposed beneath the mound of blankets until she is certain that this is what cold feels like, before she begins to move about her room, carefully pulling on sweatpants and socks over the sensitive terrain of her body. She passes the two closed doors on her way to the bathroom.
He was sitting in a cage at a table in the corner of the room. Two women were at his side. People gawked at him. One woman yelled “don’t stick your fingers in!” to a kid from Thinktank. The kid had a yellow notepad with ART MUTTERS on the cover and was writing all the valuable things that fell out of the woman’s mouth. Pam stared at Pockets as he scratched his white beard. She turned red and thought about doing something terrible to Karen. Pam looked at a few more paintings above the food table where a tureen of red punch glistened, tapping a pen on her palm. She poured some punch into a glass and almost drank it before she noticed shit or hay was floating in it.