Short Fiction

Short Fiction from issues of Apex Magazine

The Quiltmaker

by on Jan 19, 2017 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

20,000 words prologue: the pattern You never imagined you’d be in a place like this again. Mothers. Fathers. Schoolteachers. Children. All about you, children. To a tiny part of you, this setting is familiar. These hard chairs built a little too small, with their desk flaps scarred by...

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The Invisible Box

by on Jan 16, 2017 in Short Fiction | 1 comment

1,100 Words Viola watched the unconscious man trapped inside the transparent cube. He would wake soon. She counted down the seconds until his eyelids fluttered. The sedative’s dosage had been precisely timed. Her engineering background gave her the skills to systematically plan every...

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Soliloquy in a Cheap Diner Off Route 66

by on Jan 12, 2017 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

3,700 Words He presses pause and life stops. The trucker in the red and black flannel shirt at the counter is stuck in mid chew of a meatloaf that was never meant to linger. The young woman in the blue jeans and white blouse holds an angry fist over a jukebox infamous for taking payment...

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The Dark Birds

by on Jan 9, 2017 in Short Fiction | 3 comments

7,600 words My mother had daughters year after year, and one by one, my father devoured us. There were only three names allowed in the family, and only three children. There was the oldest, who was always Ruth, and the middle child, who was always Susan. The youngest was “the baby” or...

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Next Station, Shibuya

by on Jan 6, 2017 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

3,700 words Tonight you fell asleep on the loop line again. You didn’t mean to do it but the rumble of the train stretched around your shoulders like an arm, spiraled deliciously down your spine. You were alone in the car and your reflection flickered in the window across the aisle. The...

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Mag, the Habitat and We

by on Jan 3, 2017 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

It starts with a bang. Those of us awake scurry for cover; those sleeping jump wide-eyed. Five peep out of shoebox nests. Only Mag remains halfway, still part-drowning in dreams. “Mrs. Huntington?” a woman’s voice calls from out on the porch. “Mrs. Huntington, are you there?” We remember...

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