Short Fiction

Short Fiction from issues of Apex Magazine

Signal to Noise

by on Nov 24, 2015 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

6100 Words …reckon not those who are killed in Allah’s way as dead; nay, they are alive (and) are provided sustenance from their Lord. Never think that those who have perished in jihad are dead—they are still here. You are simply unaware of them. —Alternate translations of Qu’ran Excerpt...

Read More

The Beacon and the Coward

by on Nov 17, 2015 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

6,400 Words Danville stared at his hands, only a few shades darker than the walnut wood of the desk. Grease and oil were thick under short chewed fingernails. His gaze strayed to the torn CSA battle flag nailed to the wall. It was riddled with holes and stained with gunpowder, smoke, and...

Read More

To Die Dancing

by on Nov 10, 2015 in Short Fiction | 1 comment

6,000 Words Half a block away I could feel it already, the old giddiness, the limb-tingling bliss at being about to dance, to sweat, to shake my body beside other bodies, and that’s when I knew I was in true mortal peril. I walked slower, then stopped, and took ten deep breaths, until...

Read More

Blood on Beacon Hill

by on Nov 3, 2015 in Short Fiction | 2 comments

7,100 Words Listen to our podcast of “Blood on Beacon Hill” or read it below. The black boy on trial smells the blood. That sweet, sweet hemoglobin, boiling now under the blushed skins of the dying race. He can smell mousse, too, and putrid sweat. He can’t smell the eyes of...

Read More

Me and Jasper, Down By the Meth Shack

by on Oct 27, 2015 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

6,000 Words Me and Jasper was down by Pookie Dotson’s meth shack, waitin’ for Pookie to show up with his special bag of Halloween goodies. He was an hour late, but we didn’t think much about it, ’cause when it came to Pook, bein’ an hour late was awful damn close to punctuality. Anyhow,...

Read More

All Things to All People

by on Oct 20, 2015 in Short Fiction | 2 comments

1,500 Words I wake up in someone else’s house every morning, and lay my head somewhere else every night. The tattoos are my only constant company, covering almost all my skin. I’d stretch the free space of my flesh out if I could, but I don’t make or choose the pictures—and I can’t...

Read More