Eating Van Gogh by Mark Simon Burk
I ate a Van Gogh. Not a major one. And not all of it. But I did manage to tear off an entree size piece and chew it until the bitter oils burned metallic hot in the back of my throat.
 |
Latté Archives
Fiction
May 2000 Issue
July 1999 Issue
Life During Wartime by Ellie Forgotson
Summer in New York City. Year of our lives 1997. About eight hundred degrees Fahrenheit. On Clinton Street, a teenage boy slams his fist into a chain link fence and shouts at his girlfriend: “You ain’t nothing, bitch! You show me some respect!”
July 1998 Issue
Spice by Kim Davis
Hope Larkwhistle, assistant librarian, went out with twenty-eight men in fourteen years. It was true; her friend Ted made her count. And each time, her pulse did not fail to race, her thoughts speeding along with it to match the poor fellow’s last name with her first.[...]
March 1998 Issue
Five Singing Gardeners
and One Dead Stranger
by Catherine Ryan Hyde
If you were poor, you could buy a used fax machine off a dead guy and not take any crap from anybody as a result. And you are poor; that’s the unfair thing. But your fiancee is not. So you have to take the crap on his behalf, with your own name written in, where [...]
March 1997 Issue
Shiva Dancing by Poe Ballantine
Thackeray Fulbright gets lost and his colleagues try to help him, return him, point him in the right direction. Can you remember, Professor? Can you remember, Thackeray?
Rule of Snowman by Stephen St. Francis Decky
Wilie Taylor will have his face rubbed into the snow until he screams, he will deserve it because he punched me first. Shawn Thomas will be forced to ride a bicycle all the way down the street – he won’t know that the bike has no brakes, and he will crash, and hurt his arm. [...]
Slenderina by Ben Miller
Their new stone cell had a hole in one wall about a foot wide and three feet tall. Through the hole the lush unfenced meadow which surrounded the prison could be seen — blue blades of grass rustling in a slight wind, pink and red and purple wildflowers arcing over the grass like fancy plumed hats.
July 1996 Issue
Wish You Were Here by Tyler C. Gore
We planned it as a reconciliation, “a time to bury all the old dead,” as you called it, as the first small hard drops, like cutting remarks, splashed against the windshield, punctuating the silence that would stretch out like the road before us…
July 1995 Issue
Chaste Desdemona by Katie Greenebaum
I’m back from Vermont, sitting in the living room on a purple chair. The plants have not been watered. My shins are bruised. I still have the make-up on, but it’s smeared and blotchy. I wear Blanche’s dress, which I didn’t give…
May 1995 Issue
The Slaughterhouse by Karen Halvorsen Schreck
Although you may find this hard to believe, I was once a little girl, and terribly discontent. My bones ached with it, my desires pointing like fingers in all directions. For instance, the year I visited the slaughterhouse, I longed for…
- Page 4 of 5
- < Later Entries
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- Earlier Entries >