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365 Days Later: End of our Challenge

Day 365, the end. For those of you who didn’t know, this website was a collaborative project between Nikita Klimov and Benjamin Davis. Ben is from Massachusetts, U.S.A., and Nikita is from Moscow, Russia. They both live in St. Petersburg, Russia for some reason no one can ever seem to grasp. Since October 17th, 2016, Ben has written a flash fiction story every day. He … Continue reading 365 Days Later: End of our Challenge

Oranges are Better in Spain

Hank and I walk down a street in Grenada with a group of twenty-somethings. “Woo-hoos” sound so much worse echoing off of two-hundred year old cobblestone, I think. “Woo-hoos sound so much–what?” Hank is looking at the road ahead. I follow his gaze, a man in a ski-mask is half-way out of a car window. Before anyone can react, he starts throwing. The group scatters … Continue reading Oranges are Better in Spain

A Slippery Slope

D and I sat on the couch binge-watching Sons of Anarchy. I looked over at the fridge. It sat, mocking. “Mehh!” I groaned, longingly, fingers outstretched toward the refrigerator. D nodded, sleepily. He batted the air in the direction of the fridge. “I think we deserve superpowers,” D decided. I curled up further into the corner of the couch. “Mhm.” “Because,” he continued, “we wouldn’t … Continue reading A Slippery Slope

The Worst Art Teacher in Hell

I got a job working in Hell. Lucifer doesn’t speak English, so that’s something. “He understands a bit, so be careful,” the math teacher tells me. We work at the school for kids of wealthier residents. I teach art. There isn’t a Staples in Hell, but there is a printer. I hand out the worksheet; a color by numbers. Lucifer’s son sits in the front … Continue reading The Worst Art Teacher in Hell

Something To Do With Sitting at the Bar

Sitting at the bar is no different from sitting at home. Sitting at the bar is no different from sitting at home, but drunk. Sitting at the bar is no different than sitting at home, but with people. Sitting at the bar is no different than sitting at home. There is another person sitting at home, at the bar, on the end, she is crying. … Continue reading Something To Do With Sitting at the Bar

Dancing to the Death of Beauty

Drug dealers only ever offer me cocaine. We are in Portugal, an old man grabs my arm, he smiles, his teeth are black. “What?” “Cocaine-ah?” “Why would you offer me cocaine? You have offered everyone else here Hashish but yet you offer me cocaine? I don’t think I look like I like cocaine.” “You do kind of look like you like cocaine,” Hank says, standing … Continue reading Dancing to the Death of Beauty

The President of Massachusetts

We stop at a gas station at the western-most end of west Texas. Everything is in Spanish. It is hot, dry–the kind of heat that never moves except to breathe with you. I stand outside the convenience store looking up at these great towering cylinders and have a cigarette. “Can I?” Someone asks. I turn. A short man with half-broken teeth has his fingers to … Continue reading The President of Massachusetts