274 DAYS • by M.A. Scudiero
Two hundred and seventy-four days. That was how long Samantha had been waiting. Seconds slowly ticked away as Samantha re-checked the clock. Days felt even longer in school. She tried listening to her...
View ArticleSOLDIER REASSEMBLING • by Clint Lowe
If he were to die, it seemed wrong he had to do so on the dirt. But he did. Nolan died on Iraq sand, leg blown off from a landmine. “My leg. My leg’s gone, John,” he said, eyes so wide they could have...
View ArticleVETERANS • by Kate Thornton
He looked across the breakfast table, knowing that soon he’d have to choose his words carefully. It was the same every year. First the flags popped out along their quiet suburban street. Then the...
View ArticleHASSAN’S NEWS • by Dale Ivan Smith
A gun blasted and the living room window shattered, glass showering Hassan. He ran to the couch. Auntie Fatima grabbed him and held him close with the other two children. Someone screamed in the...
View ArticleGRIMM • by Kyle Hemmings
My uncle lived in the warehouse district of Toledo, not far from a Pizza Papalis and a Blarney Irish Pub. He didn’t work, lived on government checks and “gifts” from my parents. My father blamed his...
View ArticleTHE PROMISE • by JR Hume
I never wanted to visit the Wall. For years Vietnam veterans had only each other; as a memorial the Wall seemed too little, too late. Besides, there were so many names — so many memories. I often dream...
View ArticleTHE UNWINNABLE FIGHT • by Brian Toups
It’s the house I was raised in, and nothing has changed. The grass around the flowerbed is cut short and neatly edged like me. My father’s ’67 Camaro is in the driveway, plum-crazy-purple, recently...
View ArticleMY BAD • by Mike Pemberton
Bob bent down on one knee and popped the tops on the last two cans of paint. He flipped the lids of “Royal Lavender” onto the canvas drop cloth and stared at a muddled mess of grey and white satin....
View ArticleACRONYMS • by Curtis J. Graham
It was a sticky glowbowling alley, Burton thought, more so than most. He clicked his fingernails on the scorekeeper’s table and stared into the dark screen of the bolted iPad, waiting for it to...
View ArticleINEVITABLE • by Margaret Madole
Grace knew it was inevitable. The second her husband returned home from his deployment, his eyes tired and voice dull, it was clear it was only a matter of time. Joshua spoke then, but his words...
View ArticlePAYING RESPECTS • by George Aitch
The homeless man at the interchange is a veteran too and that makes me uncomfortable, especially today. His unkempt beard hangs past his collar and weaves with the fraying strands of his jacket....
View ArticleMAN DOWN • by Sam Payne
When someone popped a champagne cork at the Christmas party, Carl dived under the table. No one said a word. The dairy lot laughed nervously, the butchers raised their eyebrows and carried on with...
View ArticleTHE MEMORY IS THE ENEMY • by Sue Sabia
Ivan uses the L.A. Daily News as a placemat because his wife – rest her soul – once told him it is easier to throw out a stained newspaper than to wash a stained placemat. He prefers the obituary...
View ArticleTHE ERRANT STRAND • by Amanda Barusch
Sweat crept down his back as he stepped off the rumbling bus and stood at attention with the other recruits. He’d used a cheap comb to part his hair with what he thought was military precision — on...
View ArticleHOME • by Tanner Cremeans
April 30th, 1972 I came home. It wasn’t the warm welcome that I had expected. What I expected was the abundance of romance and cheering that my father had told me about after he returned home from...
View ArticleTHE BETTER PART OF VALOR • by Tad Tuleja
He had been cut this bad once before. In the Central Highlands, a punji stick had jabbed him below the knee. It had gone in less than an inch, but the feces that the VC had smeared on it had done its...
View ArticleBOUNDARIES • by DB Cox
It’s like a jungle in the clouds and there’s this fog — like rain, except it’s not raining. Everything is wet and tangled, and the angles of vision are slightly distorted. Walking point, I can hear...
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FINAL VISIT • by Amanda Barusch
“Your father loves you. He just doesn’t know how to show it.” The screen door slammed and Dad’s boots pounded down the stairs. Mom said he wasn’t himself since the war. I never met “himself” but I...
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DECOMMISSIONED • by C.L. Holland
From a distance the statue looks like a giant marine in full tac-armour, helmet on and faceplate engaged so you can’t tell gender. There’s a rifle, looks like a Xenon Mark Two, propped against one...
View ArticleMAD MICK • by Joseph D. Milosch
“The helplessness I felt when the bombs exploded, and mustard gas crept like ground fog into our trenches is hard to describe,” my Great-Uncle Leo said as we painted his barn red. After I dropped out...
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