Burned Boy – by Kevin Stadt
Micro Fiction / June 28, 2009

The man pulls in, parks, and takes the paper out from his bag again. A shiny hyperbolized character born of corporate imagination, all the eerier in its goal of children, ogles him knowingly. This is the only thing I’m good at. So what if turns out I suck at it? Why write “we need to talk” unless… He walks through the glass doors, brought home to learned smells long mastered, and stops to count money before taking his place in line. Damn. I can’t ask her for more, either. Worked full time with full time school and still had better grades than me. Cameras, computers, minimum wages, theoretical hierarchies, unguessed mercenary compliance professionals. He orders predictably nor does he feel good about it. Yeah, this’ll help a lot. Fatter’n hell. Fat and fucking hairy. And sweaty. Shit. Transporting this meal of value to the timed plastic chair and with a view of the parking lot full of cars redeemed for this very project, he checks his watch, the division and progression of change. She’s probably almost done moving out right now. Bet her mom’s there. Lovin that shit. He begins the tiny preparations left to him-the opening, pulling, poking, salting….

Incendiary Reunion – By David Siegel Bernstein and Susanne Shay
Flash Fiction / June 28, 2009

The explosion lit up the Philadelphia night sky for blocks. “Oh shit!” I yelled, not because of any fear of injury, (we’d gotten everybody off the boat at the first sign of flame below-deck, and Philly’s finest firemen were en route), but because my security deposit for the boat had just gone up in smoke. A couple of weeks ago, it had seemed like such a good idea-at least to my brothers. That makes it their fault. Right? Now before you answer, remember I’m the cute, naïve little sister (even if I do earn more than all of them put together. Corporate lawyer, you know). But still, cute, naïve, I’m sure there are a few more adjectives I could add. You get the idea. Now let me tell you what happened. They said, let’s rent a boat for dad’s 60th birthday party. I said sure. They said, let’s fly in his service buddies for a reunion. I said sure. They said, where’s your checkbook? I said, huh? But I paid. That was my first mistake. When my brother Jack (he’s the oldest, but not wisest of us) found the boat at the Delaware Avenue boat rental slips, he had called…