Dear Disappointed in Detroit:
Take this from me as gospel.
I am sorry to have to tell you, dearie, but in my experience, anyone who says they love you, and that they’re ready to give you their heart to prove it, will always run away as soon as they see you bring out the carving knife.
My advice to you is to start out small during a relationship. Maybe just ask for a pinky finger or little toe, and see how things go. If it works out, then ask how they feel about liver.
All the best,
Aunt Agonie
The yosuzume were seen by many but known by very few. Unlike the daytime sparrow, the birds sang only in darkness. In the loneliest mountain passes, and along heavily treed roads, they clustered like ferrofluid and watched for travelers in the night.
The yosuzume sang for many reasons, none of which they could vocalize. Reason one was because, deep down, they all wished they were sparrows. Reason two: they liked the way the humans stared at them while they sang.
The last and most important reason: in all the gloom, the birds wanted something bright. With no one but each other, they created what they could, hoping if they sang loud enough, the beauty would shine through.
Hear us, they shouted. Love us. Hold us. For once, please, someone, stay.
They waited, eager and hopeful, for someone to light the way.
Don’t leave me hanging Give me a sign Don’t walk away While my heart’s on the line
We can walk in the water Dance on the lake Flap on the ocean Whatever it takes
You’ve got a long neck And a great pair of legs You ruffle my feathers Stop making me beg
I know you can hear me You just can’t ignore How high I can jump How far I can soar
I’ll make a fool of myself I’ll flap and I’ll squawk I’ll make a big ruckus I’m the best of the flock!
Gaby sat up in bed one morning and said aloud to herself, “I only like apple juice, but I don’t have a juicer.” Then she drew a picture of her dilemma and placed it in her scrapbook of personal dilemmas.
That morning’s dilemma, along with her signature “Quirky Gaby” picture, was seen by nearly five million people who follow “THE QUIRKY GABY DILEMMA.” By next week, she’d received a dozen juicers. Gaby diligently tested the machines, resolving that particular “QUIRKY GABY DILEMMA” by picturing herself drinking apple juice next to the deluxe brand. Her fans were relieved.
The next morning, Gaby sat up in bed and said aloud, “Why do I have small paperclips when larger ones do the same thing?”
Gunshots. Alarm. Money in the trunk. Floor it.
That’s always how it goes. From the driver’s seat, I never see the blood. But sometimes, I wonder who’ll be mourning tomorrow.
My car idles in an alley across from the bank. I clutch the steering wheel with white knuckles, waiting for Andy to finish. Two pops – gunshots.
A sharp knock on the passenger window. I jump.
It’s some old woman. She wilts over a cane, barefoot and dressed in a hospital gown.
I wave her off. She knocks again.
Anxiety curdles in my gut. I lean over, rolling down the passenger window.
“Petey! It’s you!” she croaks.
“I… lady, I’m not Petey.”
I begin closing the window. She sticks a sunspot-speckled hand in the gap, frowning.
“Why aren’t you at work, hon?”
The bank alarm wails.
I frantically bat her hand away. “Ma’am, please, you’ve gotta go—”
“Ma’am?” She crosses her arms. “You might be grown, but I’m still your mother.”
I hear Andy before I see him, duffel bag thudding into the trunk. He runs up the passenger side, then stops.
“Liam, who the fuck is this?”
“I-I don’t… she just—“
Andy shoves the woman, her cry cut short by the smack of pavement. He rips open the door and jumps in.
I gape at him.
“The hell’re you waiting for? Drive!”
I floor it, shaking. In the rearview mirror, I see blood pooling on the concrete. This time, I know exactly who’ll be mourning tomorrow.
The pair of dice clatter to the table. When they come up snake eyes, Tony aims his revolver at me and cocks the hammer. My fingers dig pits into Lilith’s soot-black arm.
“You said these couldn’t lose!” I hiss.
She nods, hellfire crackling in her eyes. “If they’re carved from the bones of someone who loved you, they can’t.”
“But I brought you—”
The demon yanks her arm free. “No family’s perfect, sweetie.”
I gape at the dice.
The pips on mom’s arthritic finger bones look away before Tony’s bullet settles my debt.
Chris Doty-Dunn writes weird, speculative fiction, often with a queer bent.
Every afternoon, she jogs through the park next to my apartment. She’s athletic, gorgeous, blonde, sweet enough to wave at toddlers.
All I have that might catch her attention is Wasabi, the fluffy mutt I adopted from the pound. But even a schlub can shoot his shot.
Three days straight, I walk Wasabi down the path and try to make eye contact. Blondie jogs past me without a glance.
“You don’t want her.” The voice comes from behind a bush. “She’s a cat person.”
It’s that weird girl. She wears black even in summer, sunglasses day and night. Her little gray dog looks like a hairball.
Thursday, I pretend to trip and fall. Blondie never breaks stride. Goth Girl walks over and hands me a Band-Aid. “For your bruised ego.” Jesus. What’s her deal?
Friday, I go out wearing the zebra costume I found at Goodwill. If I can make Blondie smile…
She frowns like I’m a fugitive zoo animal and sprints away. I sigh, push the hood back, wipe sweat from my brow.
“Nice outfit.” Goth Girl lifts her sunglasses atop her head. Her hazel eyes are striking in the setting sun. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Wasabi.” Our dogs dance the circular butt-sniff tango. When we untangle the leashes, my arm brushes hers.
“Mine’s name is Pesto.”
“Heh. Saucy.”
“I’ve been called worse.” Her smile is big and warm.
I look down at my zebra stripes. Maybe weird is more my speed. “Want to take a walk?”
This month...
Contributions from...
Anatoly Loginov, Brett Abrahamsen, Chris Doty-Dunn, DC Trull, David Sydney, Dorian Alexander, E. Florian Gludovacz, E.J. LeRoy, Gabriella Dolores Menezes, Greg Clumpner, Gregg Chamberlain, Imrak Eriksson, JS Apsley, Jacob Mack, Jen Mierisch, Kelly Murashige, Leigh Loveday, Matthew R. Davis, Meagan Kane, Melanie York, Mike Murphy, Nicholas De Marino, Pam Avoledo, Pauline Barmby, Robert Cumming, Rachel Rodman, Sheree Shatsky, Sophia Jane Hayden, Tatiana Samokhina, Zoe Davis
Cover art
featuring photograph by Ivana Cajina
