By Stephanie Reddoch -- 21:00 Broken glass crunched under the coroner’s boots as he entered the apartment. The scent of a doused fire. Acrid. Humid. Next, the stench of ignited plastics and paint and synthetic chair upholstery. It was the unmistakable sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh that drew the coroner’s attention. The deceased was charred beyond recognition in the living room. He had melted into the easy chair. Muscles contracted in a pugilistic pose. According to police

By Meg Newman -- The man I’d been   hoping to see was standing ten feet away from me, sorting through a pile of reddish-brown hardwood posts. Probably ash. He was thirteen years older than the last time I’d seen him, still lanky, with those long sideburns, and now nearly bald. I swear he had on the same pair of glasses. It had to be Matt. “Matt?” I said. “It’s Julie. Julie Rustin. Y our apprentice and JoAnn’s former significant other-girlfriend.” “Holy Cow, it’s you. My ca

By Lilia Mahfouz -- As a child, Arthur was mesmerized by the golden plaques affixed to building facades. Endlessly, he would ask his nanny to decipher the mysterious titles etched under the plexiglass: “Psychologist, psychiatrist, psychotherapist, psychoanalyst.” The little boy would bounce with joy upon hearing those strange sounds. His nanny, a young woman of Moroccan origin, had explained in her own words the nature of their work: “They're specialists who heal your mood. T

By Gaurav Bhalla -- May is in the kitchen having breakfast—toasted English muffin topped with thick-cut marmalade and a piping hot cuppa tea. Between bites and sips, she cross-checks items arrayed on the kitchen island against Mary B’s recipe: She and June, her best friend since Montessori, are getting together at 11 a.m. to bake a Victoria sponge cake. A curated list of oldies—love songs—is playing. She sways sensuously to their rhythms, occasionally stopping to listen more

By Gaurav Bhalla -- Gina and Zoe Gina retrieves two bulging grocery bags from the back seat and shuts the car door with a merengue-style swing of her hips. The car beeps. Zoe lives catty-corner from Gina and is out watering her tulips. She hears the beep, sees Gina teetering—a grocery bag sliding down each hip—drops her hose and walks briskly toward her, “Here, let me help you.” Gina doesn’t think she needs help, but lets Zoe carry a bag. She’s the only resident on Running

By Charles Parsons -- Judd Rafferty was one of my early criminal clients. He retained me when he was charged with the rape of a flirtatious woman he met at a bar near his apartment. The penalty for rape in our jurisdiction was up to twenty years in prison. In her in-court testimony, the putative victim agreed that as the tavern was closing on that weekday evening, Judd invited her to his apartment. Lola accepted. With a freckled face and unruly auburn hair, she was fetching

By Barbara Krasner -- The “A” was missing again from the five and dime’s marquee. Bill Aronson, looking up, knew he should be annoyed. Annoyed that he’d have to call the signage people again and annoyed because he knew the neighborhood kids—those patrons of comic books, Venus Paradise coloring kits, and gel erasers—called the store Ronson’s. Well, at least it made the store sound less Jewish. Most of the stores at Paisley Corner had Jewish owners, but the rest of the town wa

By Barbara Krasner -- The evening was calm so far, even serene. But she knew what would come. The same thing that came last night as Newark police chased black people all through the city. She knew what it felt like to be hunted. She’d been hunted herself, all those years ago. She thought she’d put it behind her. But now here it was again. Fear. Shadows. The sound of gunshots piercing the night. Barking dogs. Shattering glass. She stood at the store window, a hand raised to

By Barbara Krasner -- White clapboards and wooden slats nailed across double windows peek through a veil of house-high ferns, maples, and elms. Leaves caress the places where shutters may once have been. Along the front in red and white reads a sign: Private Property No Trespassing. A vacant driveway sits to the south, marked off by a heavy chain, its endpoints hidden by foliage.   Before this, an elderly man thought about turning the key in the lock to protect the home fr

By Allison Cross -- The last guests were leaving. Only a few friends left. The counter was cluttered with empty bottles, crushed cigarettes, stacks of dishes. She filled the sink, let the plates disappear under the suds. What she wouldn’t give for a bath. She’d finish cleaning up, take her lover to bed. They’d fall asleep with his head on her chest. She reached for a wine glass and glanced at the bay windows stretching the length of the room. Just a glance. The black nig

By Debi McKee [Winner: 1st Place] -- The sun rose on Nixie’s little beach town. It wasn’t the kind from 80s movies, montaged with the Surfaris playing, pristine and gleaming, but it was beautiful nonetheless. She walked down the seaside road in early mornings, drifting past the old tug boats, mussels slowly tearing down piers, and wooden shacks in yellow fields swaying in the breeze. The air was cold and moist when the sun was low, even during the summer. It was worth it to

By Allison Cross [Winner: 2nd Place] -- Burnished mahogany with a large brass knob, the door resembles one you would see in a luxury hotel. The number seven hangs, rubbed to a shine. We had asked for this room; seven was Camilla’s favorite number. The door is heavy and glides without sound, allowing me to enter unseen. Floor-to-ceiling drapes have been pushed open, soft lemon, a shade darker than the carpet gracing the floor. The night nurse is tapping a message into her ph

By P.A. Farrell [Winner: 3rd Place] -- The rain pounded on the roof while the sickening smell of the flowers in his nostrils added to the lump in his throat. Knowing what he was about to do gnawed at him as a tearful haze clouded his eyes. All so vivid, it could have been yesterday. The hammer's weight in his hand, a smooth handle with a heavy head, would do it. He brought it down smartly to drive the merciless nails into the coffin's wooden lid. In his mind, he knew she wa