QB
Staff of QB
Rights, Wrongs, Lefts
GRIGORY LUKIN
Two wrongs don’t make a right.
Three rights make a left.
Eight lefts summon a déjà vu.
Sixteen identical turns—sixteen of anything—is a lot, though you return to where you started, having made zero progress in this, as in the rest of your life.
Thirty-two turns—and by now, left or right is irrelevant—and you question all the choices that have led you to the here and now.
Sixty-four turns—and the doubt grows, even as familiar landmarks blur together.
128 turns—and it’s time to face your demons. It is time to return home at last.
Crumbs Vol.001
a drabble writing contest
We are pleased to announce that submissions for our first themed writing contest are now open!
To kick things off, our first theme is quite apt for the name of our semi-monthly contest:
OPEN TO ALL GENRES FOR FEBRUARY'S CONTEST
Emma and I can't wait to see what you come up with!
Entries cost $1.50 each, with a cap of 150 submissions per period.
Ten stories will be selected for publication in Quotidian Bagatelle magazine and on the web. That's a one in 15 chance of publication! All published pieces will receive payment. Nine drabble writers will receive $5, and one will be crowned champion and receive a whopping $15.
Cook-off
E. FLORIAN GLUDOVACZ
I swear, I am going to win the competition this year after having been runner-up in the Annual Cannibal Cook-off Competition three years running.
Admittedly, the booth to my left has some delicious chick tenders. Those women walking in to be butchered looked very succulent and juicy.
The cooks to my right have some literal baby-back ribs on offer. Those are always a favourite with the judges.
But I have a special dish this year. My shanks are smoked with applewood before braising. And they are very unique and absolutely limited long pig, because I am cooking my own legs!
This month...
Contributions from...
E. Florian Gludovacz, Grigory Lukin, Steve Calvert, Mar Ovsheid, James Perkin, John Grey, Rikki Santer, DS Maolalai, Ian Stewart, Anthea Jones, Betty Stanton, Mario Senzale, E.J. LeRoy, Erin Jamieson, Ken Kakareka, Catie Jo Chappell, Lenny Morgan , Terri Rose, Mike Murphy, Christy Hartman, Nicholas De Marino, Emmie Christie, Lena Ng, Megan Diedericks, Sophia Jane Hayden, Ben Daggers, T. M. Boone, Jaina Cipriano
Cover art
featuring Seascape (1897) by William Trost Richards (American, 1833-1905)
PDF and EPUB zines of February's stories available exclusively to paid subscribers:
The rapture
JAINA CIPRIANO
In dreams
CLAUDIA WYSOCKY
who
.........are
.........you
.........really
a question
.........of
.........merely
an answer
.........or
.........a
.........game
when I wake
.........I
.........face
.........it
the night
.........shifts
.........into
.........day
the dream
.........fades
.........and
.........I
.........can’t
.........remember
.........what
.........happened
there was
.........a
.........man
.........in
.........a
.........mask
a
.........forest
.........made
.........of
.........spiderwebs
and
.........a
.........woman
.........wit
.........no
.........mouth
she
.........smiled
.........and
.........I
.........was
.........jealous
In dreams
.........we
.........are
.........free
to be
.........anything
.........we
.........want
but waking
.........is
.........a
.........different
.........story
.........altogether
Nightmares
KRISTEN ALLEN
Lucia walked into the mountains.
Horses stared out from the shadows up high.
Mares with long legs. Mares dark like smoke.
At a fork in the path, Lucia ran.
Chased by horses, she nearly got trampled before she woke herself up.
Nightmares, she whispered, looking out at the moon and the stars. If I see them again, I’m not going to run.
Lucia walked into the mountains.
Horses stared out from the shadows up high.
Mares with long legs. Mares dark like smoke.
At a fork in the path, Lucia turned and threw rocks.
Surrounded by horses, she nearly got smothered before she woke herself up.
Nightmares, she whispered, hugging her knees under her silk bedspread. If I see them again, I’m not standing still.
Lucia walked into the mountains.
Horses stared out from the shadows up high.
Mares with long legs. Mares dark like smoke.
At a fork in the path, Lucia laid down strawberries.
Watching for horses, she hid in the pines.
They came, bent their heads, munched softly in the moonlight.
Nightmares, she whispered, peering out as they whinnied and tossed their heads.
Bravely, she stepped forward.
As she moved towards them, the horses began to shimmer, then blossomed into wildflower crowns.
If I see them again, I’ll thank them, she thought as she placed a crown on her head.
Lucia walked out of the mountains.
In the land of the night
mares, kindness reigns, like in all
the rest of the world.
Salt above soil
CJ THE TALL POET
Preposterous commerce within humanity
Filtered indignation like salt above soil
Negate all physical and mental insincerity
In order to place cheers to millions of souls
Hardships indeed unite us