Issue 29 Fiction
by Ian Breen
NIGHT ARRIVED, STARRY and warm, and brought with it the familiar rumble of drums from the hills above the hotel. Robert took a sip of his Scotch and let the liquid burn in his mouth. As they had done each evening since arriving in Bora Bora, he and his wife Susan sat in front of their bamboo bungalow and listened to the sounds of the island. In the trees, strange unnamed birds made clicking noises that always came in odd-numbered bursts. An ocean breeze rustled the leaves of the plants that grew around their hut, and when it ceased they sometimes heard the laughter of other vacationers on the beach.
by Courtney Elizabeth Mauk
YOU TOLD ME together we’d discover the great unknown. I wasn’t sure what you had in mind, but I pictured distant galaxies of swirling stardust, supernovas, our bodies, hand in hand, getting sucked into the vortex of a black hole. In the Kmart parking lot, we lay in the bed of your pickup and watched the sky explode in red, white, and blue. You mouthed “boom” before each explosion, and I resisted the urge to put my finger on your lips. Wait, I wanted to tell you, that’s not how it’s supposed to go.