Fiction

Stonecoast Review The Lit­er­ary Journal of the Stonecoast MFA Tell Me A Story Fiction By N. T. McQueen Tell me a story, Pap. It seems since you came into this world six years ago you’ve been asking me this ques­tion. Even when your almond eyes stared back…

By Claire O’Halloran
The distant hum of an approach­ing vehicle cuts through the quiet of West­more, Vermont. It vibrates off the frozen mid­night air, air that is charged and heavy with soon-to-fall snow, air that holds more promise than the mess of metal and wire in front of me. I toss the instruc­tion manual onto my desk, happy for an excuse to stop reading. It is meant to be a camera. A “fool­proof” gift from my son that will record outdoor wildlife while I sleep. I leave the pieces where they are and head to the front door.

By Robert Granader
He pinches and pulls at the pic­tures on his phone, deci­pher­ing them like code. Every now and then he gets dis­tract­ed and focuses on a back­ground: a pair of boots, a fancy car. But mostly he studies the face, as if he’s prepar­ing to write a dis­ser­ta­tion com­par­ing it to the Mona Lisa.

Oyster City Under Water Fiction By Madison Garber              Morning dawns gunwale gray and wet in Oyster City. The hur­ri­cane, first a roar in the night, then a howl, now a whisper of sea spray over the coast, barrels farther inland.…

The Onion Fiction By Kevin Broc­coli The may­on­naise has not been made. As the onion con­tem­plates how long it will be until someone notices that the may­on­naise has not been made, it sees Chef Doyle trying not to cry. Chef Doyle does not cry at work. In…

FICTION By William McDon­ald So, a child is like an invest­ment, you see? First you estab­lish a part­ner­ship with your other (spouse, mate, lover, etc.), and then you start saving. And you save and you save until you feel like your part­ner­ship has estab­lished a…

FICTION By Steven Lang She was short and thick, with dry, blood­shot eyes and skin as white as the belly of a fish. Even when she was crying—which was often—tears rarely came. She’d rub the backs of her hands into her eyes until they reddened,…

FICTION By Mike Guerin She had been off in Aus­tralia, and quare places after that, for about twenty years. She only came home for her parents’ funeral. Carbon monox­ide poi­son­ing, like the canary in the ad. There was no carbon monox­ide poi­son­ing long ‘go ‘cos…

FICTION By Laura Leigh Morris “I guess we should talk about Leander.” She’s cute in a ruddy cheeked, out­doors­man sort of way. Not the type of woman I picture with my husband. I stab at the salad with my fork, wave at her to dig…

FICTION By Dina Cox The toy sur­prise at the bottom of the cereal box turned out not to be a fidget spinner or packet of magic markers, or minia­tur­ized plastic batting helmet, but a message in a bottle, a very small bottle, for­mer­ly a bottle containing…