Latte Archives
Fiction

Fall 2009 Issue

respiratory system — resuscitator By John Shea

A Tale from Websters… “I should have taken better care of myself.” After drink and drugs and various forms of excess — some better left in memory’s shadows — his hands occasionally shook and his respiratory system was . . . well, let’s just say it was not always reliable…

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Tidewater Breakdown By Sarah McCraw Crow

Second Prize, 2009 Literal Latte Fiction Award.
Brian was late getting home — he’d gone surfing with Rob, down at Rudee Inlet, and they’d stayed out a little too long, waiting for one decent spring wave — but even now, Carly’s minivan wasn’t in the driveway….

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Virgin Flight 244, Chicago to Heathrow By M. M. De Voe

Winner, 2009 Literal Latte Short Short Contest.
In airborne darkness, the pain of birth. She grabs her neck just above the locket and feels the pointy head of a small creature…

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Audition By M. M. De Voe

The listing sounded good…. I arrived exactly on time, breathless, dripping from the humidity, hair captive in a rubber band, flat and lifeless, white tank top sticking to my back. A trickle of sweat ran down between my breasts and itched, but I didn’t dare scratch.

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Summer 2009 Issue

Mares Eat Oats By George Dila

Second Prize, 2009 Literal Latte Fiction Award.
We got this assignment in our Adult Ed creative writing class, the assignment being to write a little story about our mother, Mother’s Day being just a couple of weeks away, and all. Just one page. Like a sketch or a vignette. A little scene, maybe, with some action and dialogue….

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Nature vs. Nurture By Carol Winters

Harriett Hemenway made the decision to become an artist during her freshman English Literature class. She didn’t make the commitment out of a dislike for literature, quite the opposite actually, but it was her way of not tempting fate[…]

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depersonalization By Virginia Aronson

The plan was, i would go into the hole, sit in the queen’s chair, and exit my body.

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Mr. Benz By Luke Fiske

First Prize, 2009 Literal Latte Fiction Award.
My wife came home that first evening with a note. Dear Karen, I seem to be lying here more and more thinking about how grateful I am to you, and what a special person you are

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Spring 2009 Issue

A Small Rectangular Dredge By Renée Bacher

“Some snails, like Janthina, float all their lives at the surface of the ocean and are wafted about by the wind.”

Nina says, “Jack, stop reading out loud, get the seashells out of the hall and let’s get moving. I have to be on time for my interview.”

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Book of Cakes By Karen Ackland

When asked why she’d never married, Michele replied that she was waiting for her mother to bake her wedding cake. Then she explained her mother had died almost fifteen years before. No one asked twice.

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