Fiction: Where She Slumbers Still

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By E. Catherine Tobler

Age comes upon every being and so, too, death, but none should be made to endure both in the same moment. In these long and gloomful days, it becomes difficult for me to separate life from …

IFPFiction: Where She Slumbers Still

Fiction: I Fall to Pieces

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By Leslianne Wilder

I‘m wearing a banker. I should have taken him off, sloughed the trimmed chest hair and frameless glasses to the floor and just been naked with her, but I’m shy, sometimes. I know, even if she’s only …

IFPFiction: I Fall to Pieces

Fiction: The Unkillable Girl

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By KL Pereira

You can’t kill what’s already dead. It’s the only thing that’s kept me alive all these years.

I was tiny, pale, so small that my mother thought drowning me in the bath (my first memory) would be …

IFPFiction: The Unkillable Girl

Fiction: The Atrocity Film

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By Allen Griffin

The abandoned home looked like a crackhouse, gutters hanging like strays on a bad hair day, half-broken windows like carnivorous teeth. If not constructed from brick, the structure would have succumbed to collapse long ago.

I squatted …

IFPFiction: The Atrocity Film

Fiction: Grotto of the Helpless

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By Erin Stocks

I rearranged the mask on my face, crinkling my nose from the stench swirling up from the gully. Jorges slung his arm around my waist and tried to kiss me, but I twisted away, unwilling to relent …

IFPFiction: Grotto of the Helpless

Fiction: Call Out

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By Steve Toase

Opening the field gate, Malcolm sensed something born wrong sheltered in the old cattle shed. The sickly sweet smell of decay spread across the hillside. Round his feet, half-blind, featherless jackdaws cawed. Malcolm hesitated, not wanting to …

IFPFiction: Call Out

Poem: Fragment of a Dream of Atlantean Yellows

By Bryan Thao Worra

You are a mist for me, you thing of nevers known.
I weep your nameless name in my mind,
Your gaze a lightless inferno within a midnight hurricane.

You are a mist for me, you, beneath your shadow crown,
Thoughtless as steam between decrepit cogs and wind.

Trees make ready for autumn.
This city: Is that old burning Rome or Vientiane?

Clouds are savaged within the darkness,
Street lights always flashing to imagined jazz
Over concrete …

Bryan Thao WorraPoem: Fragment of a Dream of Atlantean Yellows

Poem: Dead End in December

By Bryan Thao Worra

When you leave me, don’t think
You’ve truly gone.
You’re fastened to too many gluons
And neurons, anchored to this gray
Beneath bone between wood and wave.
Don’t believe you’re some seagull.
You haven’t wings.
Sitting by the seaside, these planks
Of ancient piers,
Let those ships sail on without you.
You try to live like everyone else.
You try to mind your business.
You get married, you have your children,
But you will return.
Whether …

Bryan Thao WorraPoem: Dead End in December

Poem: You are never supposed to open the door

By David C. Kopaska-Merkel

The big heavy door
The one in the basement of your great grandfather’s house
Somewhere in New England, gabled and gloomy
You inherited it
The only living descendant.

Don’t open it!

You are never supposed to open the book.

Its leather binding
Curiously warm to the touch
Its palpable aura of evil
Its place of reverence
In the library full of books despicable and banned.

Don’t open it!

You’re never supposed to spend the night in …

IFPPoem: You are never supposed to open the door