Ben Syverson

Sam Becker

Nat Steinsultz

Giovanna BK

Sean King

Rietje Becker

Zoe Becker

Frank Spiro

Gabriel Pincus

Sheila Sheedy

Joy Milne

Ross Weijer

While Steven P and Steven S had fought in public before, this was the first public food fight, and as they both went to bed angry, Steven P couldn’t help but feel a nagging pang of guilt.

Steven P went straight to bed that night without showering. He still had dried mashed potatoes under his eyes and grape jelly on his t-shirt. Normally this would have bothered him but he had a lot on him mind. For instance, what was Steven S up to?

He racked his brain trying to remember, Steven S hadn't been at last weeks meeting of the Stevens' club, which was strange because that was the day that Steven Q and Steven R had a rap battle, and everyone knows how much Steven S loves rap battles.

But he couldn’t remember what had been stopping him from going. Perhaps it was the intense sense of ennui born of so many Stevenses in one space all the time. He decided to make a break. He opened the white pages and searched for a club starting with the letter T.

"Thor's Hammer: Valhalla on Earth! Come for our shots of Odin's sweat, and relax in Loki's Lounge!" He wrote down the address, thinking this place seemed worth a try.

He stepped out of his taxi and saw a gigantic door made of wooden beams braced together with brass brackets. Small letters are burned into the wood: Thor’s Hammer. He’s about to grab the handle as a window opens in the door “Password?” A voice said. He ventured his best guess.

Turns out “octopus” wasn’t it. After his 4th guess at the password, the small window slid shut, and the ancient, wooden door creaked ajar. “Good thing I read the whole dictionary last night,” he thought to himself as he waddled forward.

The cruel irony— he could remember every word in the English dictionary, but couldn’t remember his own father. As he walked in the door he was met with a familiar must; a predator was close

When his father would hit his mother, he would dive further into the dictionary, memorizing everything he could to block out the present. Falling in love with a world of words kept him safe from the realities of home.

It was easier to commit to a book than to look at his mom's face.

His guilt poured out onto the pages he was supposed to be reading, but try as he might he just couldn't concentrate. All at once his glare stopped and fixed on the word, that one word that he knew would...

Change the future of the custom injection-molding industry forever. "Alack!" He shouted, barely able to contain his abandon. "Adding this to my patent will make us millions!" And his guilt evaporated, replaced by the cool, amoral certitude only excessive amounts of cash can buy.

Eureka in Loki’s Lounge

Judy Leuteneker

The rain put out his cigarette as he stepped outside. Armando didn’t like the rain; he loved it. It reminded him that everything could be washed away. He wanted to believe that— no, he had to.

The deck creaked under Armando's weight. He looked far into the distance, eyes glazed over. What had he done? Someone would be lookin for him, and soon. He checked his watch and walked back toward the saloon. Before he got to the doors he pulled something small out of his pocket.

A photo of a girl he once knew, a girl from a past life, settled into his hands and lifted toward his eyes. He remembered the day well: they'd gone to one of those newfangled photography studios to get the portrait taken. Commotion in the saloon called him back from his reverie.

The poker players in the corner had started a quarrel, he knew this would end badly. He was about to leave when the saloon doors swung open and there she was, the girl from the picture. His lost love.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He was frozen. Frozen in time & immediately brought back to all those years ago.

The very first time he drank an ice cold drink too quickly and experienced the dreaded BRAINFREEZE. In his mind he was a man of the world, an accomplished scientist, getting on in years. Yet here he was - a small boy in a 7-11 parking lot, spilling his slurpee as the pain hit.

Brainfreeze!

She sat as though Velcro’d to her vinyl couch. If you looked at her eyes closely you might be able to watch the reflection of whatever show she was watching— probably something about guns, mysteries, a criminal on the loose.

In reality, the only reason she seemed to be Velcro'd to her couch was because she was, in fact. Melissa was a Velcro enthusiast, and had been her whole life. Her whole house was coated with the stuff. The outside of all her clothes were too.

When she built her house, Melissa thought it would be fun to make everything Velcro. She was wrong. The Velcro house had become a prison— whenever she detached from one object, she found herself attached to another. There was no escape.

Yet what was her home if not the perfect metaphor for contemporary capitalism? Melissa knew her madness, her unnatural attachment to material possessions. She knew she'd betrayed her father and spiritual advisor, Karl Marx. When the Velcro God came for her, she went willingly.

Frank Spiro
@frankspiro

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Frank Spiro@frankspiro

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Frank's Stories

Frank Spiro
@frankspiro

Awards
Earned

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Since