An Evening with Willie Freeze
Fiction
Gregory J. Wolos’s fiction has recently appeared or is forthcoming in The Los Angeles Review, PANK, A Cappella Zoo, Jersey…
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Fiction
Nathan Gower holds a M.F.A. in Writing from Spalding University and currently serves as an Assistant Professor of English at…
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Fiction
Peter Kispert is an undergraduate student currently living in New Hampshire, where he is Editor-in-Chief of Aegis and Sandpaper, the…
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In a Room Made Up For Someone Else
Fiction
Ryan Millbern is a copywriter at Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency, a marketing firm in Indianapolis, Indiana. His stories and essays…
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Fiction
Nominated multiple times for Pushcart and Best of The Net Anthology, Ajay has work published or forthcoming in over ninety…
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Fiction
Wendy is a Senior Fiction Reader for Prairie Schooner. Her recent work appears in Copper Nickel, Fifth Wednesday Journal, and…
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Fiction
Josh Green’s work has appeared in The Los Angeles Review, The MacGuffin, Atlanta Magazine, The Adirondack Review, New South, Lake…
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Fiction
Catherine Parnell teaches writing and literature at Suffolk University in Boston, as well as the occasional seminar at Grub Street…
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Fiction
Christopher Lowe is the author of the short story collection Those Like Us (SFASU Press, 2011). His fiction and poetry…
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Fiction
Devin Murphy’s recent work appears in The Cimarron Review, The Greensboro Review, The Michigan Quarterly Review, The Missouri Review, and…
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There Are Rules, Secret Little Rules
Fiction
Catherine Thomas was born and raised in Wales and now lives in Syracuse, NY. She holds an MA in English…
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Gregory Wolos
The Cubmaster introduces our guest speaker as George White Eagle. I don’t recognize the name, but his face is familiar—it’s a twist of rawhide, eyes hooded to a slit under bruise-purple lids. You’d think they were shut completely, except a gleam sneaks out now and then that reminds me of the husky dog we had when I was a kid. Wolfy slept with his eyes half open, and the dead look in them made me shiver, like he was watching us from some evil world. George White Eagle’s black hair is tugged back into an inch of ponytail. New blue jeans cinch his waist, and his flannel shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, bags at the chest because he hunches.
“Mr. White Eagle is going to tell us some Indian lore and play his flute for us,” the Cubmaster says. His face is ham red, as if his yellow neckerchief is too tight. “So let’s quiet down, kids, okay?”
The scouts are sugared up on soda pop and cupcakes, unconcerned about whatever is happening on stage. They shout and bang folding chairs and play keep away with stolen caps or sneakers. The Cubmaster raises his hand and calls,…
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