By Ajit Nagpal

The Wheel of Brisbane turned slowly against the sky, its gondolas catching the afternoon light like soap bubbles on a wire.

Marcus breathed out. One chance. That was all he needed. He settled his eye against the scope.

South Bank spread below. Families on the lawns, children shrieking through the Streets Beach lagoon, the Brisbane River sliding gray and patient toward the sea. Near the riverside promenade, a busker played to a small crowd, his movements visible, his music swallowed by distance. A child waved a bubble wand. Bubbles lifted, caught the light, and popped.

Marcus scanned. Left to right. Measured.

So much for promises.

The ice cream truck sat near the rainforest walk. Two women stood at the window. One tall, dark-haired. The other slimmer, a redhead, half-hidden behind her companion.

[Read more…] about A Perfect Sunday

By Axel Truitt

I am sitting on my roof in the heat of the apocalypse, eyes fixed painfully on the boiling sun as the hoofbeats of horsemen go by. I am eating a bowl of cherries. 

In the town where I was born—far away and cool and untouched in my memory by plagues of any kind—there are more cherries than anyone can count. By the time May blooms from April’s loins, and the last clouds of the spring storm season drift back North, there are cherries in abundance. 

Across the way, far past the skyscrapers rising from concrete and into the sky, past the untouchable snow-capped mountains that have watched me age, East of familiarity but West of the unknown: that’s where they grow. Miles and miles of cherry trees waving in the wind and breeding fruit like the rabbits that bounce at their roots. By late August, they will begin to quiver and rot under their own plenty. When winter comes and buries them in frosty death, they will be long since dormant—but in the warmer months of my childhood memories, they are fresh and alive and plentiful. They smile as the farmers ask their favor and load their little red children into trucks to be driven back to me and my sticky fingers and my summertime glee, because I am a child and all the world is simple and fresh and loving. 

[Read more…] about Stone Fruit

By Frank Haberle

Do you remember the time we went to the carnival? 

What happened was this: Mom fell asleep at the kitchen table. We were eating Libbyland frozen dinners. The dinners were still half-frozen. I was chipping away at the frozen french fries with my fork. We were waiting for our aunt. Our aunt was supposed to take us to the carnival, down at Louie’s beach, but she never came. Some time later, we learned that she was in a car accident. But that was later. That was the next night. This night, we were soaking in disappointment. Nobody was taking us to the carnival. Mom said she would take us if our aunt didn’t come, but then, she fell asleep. The older kids were out running all over the island. We desperately wanted to go to the carnival. But nobody was there to take us.

[Read more…] about Carnival