The Anti-Literary Magazine

Flash Fiction

A beer bottle in front of a blurry skyline, the lights of the horizon faded to fuzzy dots.

Waiting For The Dealer

Twenty years ago, I was a young boy who imagined himself to be a future rock star.

A heavy traffic jam at night, the road illuminated by the brake lights of cars disppearing into the horizon.

Evacuation

One could never be sure that the worst wouldn’t happen again.

Momo Twins

Momo Twins

They opened their eyes to each other at twenty-seven weeks.

Eduardo

Eduardo

I don’t even know how Eduardo got the bottle rocket he shot himself with— you have to cross the state border to buy fireworks ‘cause they’re illegal in the city.

Through Some Coincidence

Through Some Coincidence

It’s just the rattling of the warm, yellow grass.

Black coffee in a mug sitting ontop of a folded hat on lap in the hands of a person wearing a biege sweater, sitting outside.

GAZE

I come to him every day, every day in a new shirt.

Aging ornate copies of Homer's The Iliad and The Oddyssey piled up in a tidy stack on a shelf.

The Would-Be Thief Pauses to Read About Homer’s Iliad

I hear the Famous Poet scoffs at the idea of an after-life that caresses us, preferring to believe in the remote Disneyland of the dead though even he must know that wherever the dead live, they’re not resting in peace.