a taste of ‘February’

One story a day for the entire year … welcome to February!

scroll down for tastes …


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return to A Year in Stories in the Store


“Offshore means, or meant, unregulated. Not sloppy. This,” Luis makes the binder dance again, “is sloppy. Negligent, even.”

Guilie Castillo Oriard, The Chablis and Sushi Miracle


All those stories of Latin romance she carried back to the dorm were made up in a tiny room we had in Little Italy; well, some were made up.

Townsend Walker, La Ronde / Gina and Joey


He’d taken the photo the night of the party. It’s from the side and she’s looking down. The camera flashed and she lifted her eyes. “Gotcha,” he’d said that night …

Derek Osborne, A Visitor


“Right,” I say. “Me bipolar? I just have energy cycles. Is everyone with energy cycles bipolar?”

Gloria Garfunkel, A Precise Science


She told at least forty people – police and doctors and lawyers – that she doesn’t remember the accident. She told them she was driving down the street and the next thing she knows she’s lying in a cold, white room that’s so bright it hurts her eyes.

John Wentworth Chapin, Ochre


I look down at the notebook on my lap. I open Facebook and get a shock. Sitting on my lap is a picture of my dad in a cherry red Speedo.

Lynn Beighley, Avoidance


You know I never saw the least sign of battiness in him when I still lived with him and his mother.

Andrew Stancek, Freak’s Father


I emerge, finally, a torturous twenty minutes later after wrestling myself into a bright blue sheath dress that I’d forgotten I borrowed from a cousin.

Rachel Ambrose, Consequences Need Action


I stick the paper bullet in my bag, down a half-pint of orange juice, and go for a shower then take my tweezers to the topiary heart between my legs, and make sure the edges are tidy.

Gill Hoffs, Valentine’s Lay


After nearly thirty years of service, Father McKenzie’s love in God is not lessened, only his faith in his right to serve God.

Jessica McHugh, Lost and Found


She skims over the jars of ready-made pasta sauce and says, “I just told her to fuck off and die,” before picking one up and dropping it in her basket. The pensioner sneers before she shuffles away, muttering under her breath.

Shane Simmons, Supermarket Sweep


It’s cold but Stevie is suddenly sweating. He’s not ready for this. How could he be? How could any of them be?

Michelle Elvy, Kia


I make us screwdrivers, mine mostly vodka. The first taste is like seeing old yearbook photos.

Len Kuntz, The Thaw


“It’s just that I don’t know any of these guys much. Would you mind if I come to you for quotes when I’m stuck?” “Of course,” I say. “As long as you don’t mind the usual predigested crap.”

Michael Webb, Second Inning


After flicking the lightswitch off, the Bird mounts the stairs and in his bedroom undresses and lies on top of the sheets naked. He thinks of the beautiful Melodie, her smile, the twinkle in her eye as she played the reels.

James Claffey, A Visit from Mother


“Pretty people kill themselves all the time. Models. Actresses,” Mora tells Phil, in answer to his comment. “She’s not looking for a why; we’re here for the how and when.”

Gwendolyn Joyce Mintz, Live For


Dr. D squats. I feel embarrassed. What about all that hair, the gray and the brown and the messy tufts? Pubic defoliation, pro or con? I think.

Stephen V. Ramey, Living Dead


She returns with a small thermal pot, another cup, and a plate of chocolate biscotti on a tray, and the man’s face lights up. He thinks he’s got her now.

Gay Degani, Nesting


Did you get my email with the explicit instructions for extra spacing for note-making in the ‘academic’ edition?

Sally-Anne Macomber, The Follow-Up


You can bring Mum down, drop her off at our place, and pick her up on the way back. It’ll only take you an extra twenty minutes or so.

Mandy Nicol, Well, actually


Nora remembers the phone call she got from the hospital a month ago, the paramedic asking for “Mrs. Billingsly,” as if she is married. Only telemarketers ever call her that.

Margaret Bingel, Worry


… how am I supposed to live in your absence, now that my being is hollow in your shape, now that my words pour themselves on the floor and must be swept up and thrown away …

Darryl Price, Building a Sunday


“We’re going to raise rabbits!” Joyce says. “Why?” I envision being overrun, like the Brits. “Will you eat them?”

Teresa Burns Gunther, White Rabbit


“Oh, God!” Seventeen eyes dart in Zebadie’s direction. Looking at me as she lowers her head on the reception desk in exasperation, she breathes out and says, “I soooooo miss porn.”

Matt Potter, Morgana Malone and the Case of the Blushing Bride


But six years into our marriage I had an affair. The marriage survived, but Cupid’s arrow had festered, an arrow too deep to be driven through and impossible to pull out.

Gary Percesepe, Dylan, A Love Story


He stares at the woman until he starts to remember something. An involuntary flutter of her eyelids sparks his memory, and his eyes squeeze shut so last night’s movie can play in his mind.

Nathaniel Tower, Waking Up Samford Again


And the whole time he cries. Rumbling with stifled tears. The baby is soothed by the rhythmic motion of his gulping breath and becomes drowsy as he rocks toe to heel, like a hobbyhorse.

Kimberlee Smith, The Bite


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