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Index SoI 4

Cover art:

“Psy Face Vector” by Paulo Flatau.

Paulo is an art director and illustrator from Brazil. His portfolio can be viewed here:, or


“The Highest Jetés in the History of Riverport” by Danica Cummins

You see, Death was stalking the vineyards.

My grandmother Beaty had just gone to Heaven. On top of that, a fireman’s wife had been shot. She’d shielded her chest with a Tupperware bowl, but the bullet blew clean through it. Then a hothead teenager from town, swollen with reckless abandon, had gotten himself thrown in front of a lumber truck…. read on…

“Properties” by David Emanuel

The Owltopus―celebrated traveling companion of the Sea King; co-hero of the great saga of the Black Hands; natural leader of all missions, exploratory and expiatory; shepherd of lost sheep; friend to the listless; master of impossibility; champion of the champignon; illustrious sage; and most famous (as well as only) avian mollusk in the history of the world―frequently travels alone these days. Being the unique specimen of one’s species is a very taxing task, one to which the Owltopus grows tired of tending… read on…

“Huey Meadows’ Flip-Flops” by Brandon Ney

Huey Meadows wore flip-flops.

The only student in all of R.U.P. High with the gumption to stand for what he believed. It just so happened, Huey believed in a gentle breeze against his feet. He liked the wind to brush the hair at his toes. Yes, he enjoyed the freedom to flex his digits… read on…

“Bloody Mary” by Colleen Chen

“Nobody wants to date me,” complained Teresa. “I wish I could just know who my husband was going to be, so I didn’t have to sit around worrying if anyone is ever going to ask me out.”

“Have you heard of Bloody Mary?” her best friend Shelly asked… read on…

“Tree of Living” by Carine Engelbrecht

The kiss of earth was grainy, slightly bitter and tinged with the scent of dew on grass. Waves of beer came and went as his gut churned against recent excess. The air was autumn cool.

Just look at you. You are disgusting…read on…

“God Drives” by Stephen V. Ramey

“Well, that stinks,” Abercrombie states. He’s trying to set a 1963 Volkswagen Beetle, Hot Wheels not the real thing, onto a roadway jammed with idling cars, trucks, fire engines, dragsters and Weeble hybrids… read on…

“Isn’t” by L. David Hesler

They tell me he isn’t real.

How can that be?

When I was fourteen, my family sat around the table and prepared to eat dinner. It was supposed to be my birthday feast. Nobody showed up because it was raining so hard… read on…

“I laughed, I cried” by Allen Kopp

The world is ending, maybe in as little as two days. I feel strangely at peace; there’s some comfort in knowing that I—along with everybody else left in the world—will go out at the same time and in the same way. There’ll be no more bills to pay, no more car insurance, traffic jams, head colds, television commercials, doctor visits, taxes, corrupt politicians, backaches, family arguments, mosquito bites, or tough chicken. The list could go on and on, but I digress… read on…

“In Flight” by Juan Carlos Mendizabal

As a passenger, I get to sit back and enjoy the trip. At least that’s usually my intention when I first board the airplane. At least it has been. I can’t really say what my intention is anymore. Things have changed… read on…

“Metaphor” by Jason Lee Miller

In the beginning there was nothing. Our hero stands there, a particle in the void. Not entirely nothing, for he exists somewhere within or near it, and though he cannot point to it (how does one point at nothing?), he can name it and forever onward refer to it. As if to himself, he thinks, or speaks without sound, an idea into existence that he stands at the nexus where something and nothing meet. When he looks to what he believes is the left—for he is a particle in space, without limbs or orientation—a distant spark of light arcs toward him, burning a path through dark emptiness… read on…

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