Short, Fast, and Deadly

Short, Fast, and Deadly
Issue Nine
Edited by Joseph A. W. Quintela
7 February 2010

Featuring:
Alex Cigale
Eirik Gumeny
Lynn Hoffman
Parker Tettleton
AJ Pearson-VanderBroek

Copyright © 2010 by Individual Authors
All Rights Reserved

Anti-Haiku (I)

A pair of ratty sneakers
tied laces strung over phone
wires like amputated ears.

by Alex Cigale of New York City

Blind Corners

Boss let us out early on account of the minotaur. Thing busted in, out of its mind, knocking down shelves and flinging DVDs. Tossed a register through the front window. The fucking beast of Minos’ labyrinth. What were we gonna do? Cops had to be called. They stormed in, all sirens and guns, put it down fast. We just stood there, staring, not quite getting it.

How could they kill a minotaur and not feel a thing?

by Eirik Gumeny of Lyndhurst

Anti-Haiku (II)

A couple, between
her thighs his cocked knee
pinning her to the wall.

by Alex Cigale of New York City

The Eleven of Hearts

It begins a hum, with intent. The journey of orgasm, direct, even in a body so confused, snakes through scrambled nerves, ventures up spine, hugging titanium and dead body bone chips, traverses numb fingertips that clutch sheets, the same that pound keys to characters, each pang begging: why are you here? My soul resides in a house of cards on the shoulders of Atlas. Pull one from the bottom tier - it is a miracle.

by AJ Pearson-VanderBroek of Nebraska City

Anti-Haiku (III)

Corporate necropolis;
encased in cubicles
of plastic the half-lives
of our official selves.

by Alex Cigale of New York City

Two Clinics

"You know, Katie, your mom and I didn't really want to have you but we tried to raise you right."

Through the slats, Katie watched his lips: tasting, not hearing, his words.

"You shudda been like your brothers, Tom and Freddy, calm and steady."

He coughed, the bed shook with his violins.

Katie imagined a kiss and nodded as she filled a syringe with a pale blue liquid.

by Lynn Hoffman of Philadelphia

Anti-Haiku (IV)

Eyes shut, my lashes
resemble nails, the lids
the lids of two coffins.

by Alex Cigale of New York City

Adventures in Solitude

The door closed on its own. Maps made of mud cracked and crumbled onto the carpet. A tiny silver toaster slid off the kitchen counter, suspended like a cliffhanger in search of the bottom instead of the top.

And remember he did the day the fourth grade teacher stood back to the class, licking his equation with vine-ripened tongue.

by Parker Tettleton of Woodstock

Anti-Haiku (V)

The waterbug that
last night scaled my curtain looked
so much bigger alive.

by Alex Cigale of New York City