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by David Uhlich 1999 Short Story Contest Honorable Mention
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I first met Michael Everest at a dinner party in Marin. My fiancé introduced us; she had already made his acquaintance through the hostess of the party, with whom she worked at a consulting firm in San Francisco. And I guess you could say that I took an immediate disliking to him. He had the high forehead of a Cro-Magnon, one of those pug noses that all spoiled brats seem to have in common, and his hair was blown back arrogantly from his face. Nevertheless, I did attempt to act in a cordial manner towards him. I extended my hand to give him one of those firm but friendly handshakes, one of those gestures that mean absolutely nothing, but that politicians and salesmen dole out by the millions, hoping for nothing but to finish this social ritual as quickly and painlessly as possible, and move onward, towards the next potential handshake. Unfortunately, our introduction was neither quick nor painless. He gripped my feeble hand within his mastiff paw, nearly crushing the flimsy metacarpals of my right hand. |
| City Lights There's always stars out there, I know it. So I go outside now but it's so cold I strain myself anyway an’ look up. Where in hell are them lucky stars! by Joseph Lisowski |
Birthdays Birthdays are
always bad I mean 79 is a really big number by Joseph Lisowski
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by Thomas Heisler 1999 Short Story Contest Honorable Mention
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My brother Preston, who is nothing much except that he won the Rose Bowl two years ago and is now the San Francisco 49ers’ starting tight-end, is the one being married. This is supposed to be a really happy occasion, and for most people in the audience it probably is, but for me it’s something else. My face is broken out, which happens anytime I’m under strain, which is often - the majority of the acne collecting around my chin, but some also on my upper lip - and my tuxedo fits me in such a way to accentuate those aspects of my body that should be hidden under deep layers of deceptive fashion. The pant cuffs are at the tops of my ankles and my jacket’s too big and my cummerbund’s on so tight that my shirt bulges over it like a little sack of fat, just hanging from my gruesomely skinny body. At six-foot-two, 150-odd pounds, I look like I’ve been behind barbed wire somewhere equatorial, chewing on sticks. I tried the tux on at the store a week ago and it seemed to fit me fine, but today’s a different story. They’ve got those tricky mirrors at clothing places that make you look better than you are that might explain it, but if you ask me, I’d say it has something to do with astrology. |
| Long Distance The phone don't ring no more. At first I thought maybe everybody Then I'd think maybe they was like me by Joseph Lisowski |
Inconsistency inconsistency,
infidelity by Holly Day
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by Robert Burdette Sweet A excerpt from Blood Warm, a soon to be published novel about his travels around the island of Grenada in the 1950s. |
Grenada, 1956. I wandered toward the back of the thatched cabin looking for Junior. Rattled as I was from my confrontation with his mamman -- should that be who she was -- I felt the need for a familiar presence. I had been plunged into a lethal but splendrous world whose trappings and every word and gesture alarmed as much as it fascinated me. I was desperate for a connection to counterbalance my own trepidations, which increased my desire for Junior, intensified my love or need. I've never been certain which was which, or if indeed both words are not irrevocably linked. Night struck like a hammer blow. Tree frogs began their screeching and fireflies dazzled the heavy air. If there was a moon, no light from it penetrated the heavy canopy of drooping trees. Finally I came upon him where he hunched over a small fire about which were piled a semicircular ridge of stones centered by a collapsed chimney. Sparks from the fire so mimicked the whirls of fireflies that I almost passed it by. |
What If? what if one of us by Holly Day |
 Remembering Matt |
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