photo of zucchini growing in a garden

Triangles by Marie Hoy-Kenny

Brooklyn draws rows of eggplants and zucchinis on her math textbook. She catches me looking and winks. Mr. Foster’s at the front of the room, obliviously discussing Pythagorean Theorem. Brooklyn bats her fake eyelashes like she’s waiting for me to compliment her artwork so I whisper that I can see she’s got a thing for…

photo of a pair of scissors

The Rascally Rabbit by Kim Magowan

My ex-boyfriend owns a pub called The Rascally Rabbit, and every time I go there he tries to convince me to fuck him. I say, “I’m married.” He says, “Me too. And?” I say, “And, your wife’s a bitch.” This is true, though Shannon and I were good friends before she married my ex-boyfriend. Well,…

photo of a statue's hand holding a writing implement

Nominations: The Best Small Fictions 2018

Lovely CC Readers: Now that we’ve submitted our nominations for The Best Small Fictions anthology, the bovines are pleased to share with you the following nominees: The Last One (by Madeline Anthes) Hopi (by Josh Rank) The Concealer (by Matthew Vasiliauskas) Bad Babysitter (by René Ostberg) Stab Apples (by Molly Bonovsky Anderson) Congrats to all!…

photo of restaurant interior

Seven Confessions by John Meyers

You reach a certain age, you have to level with yourself. There are things I can’t do that I thought I could do, there are lies I tell myself everyday that I probably should stop telling myself. I’m no longer young, I’m on the backend of an uneventful, relatively easy life, and I think it’s…

photo of cows in shed

How to Make Wisconsin by Kirk Hathaway

You begin with cows. If you don’t have cows you don’t have Wisconsin, only a shaved Michigan. Then, you must have immigrants, lots and lots of immigrants, mostly pale from being so long in snow and supper clubs, from all the beer and hops and barley that have bleached every red cell in those unmistakably…

photo of nude torso

Esther Threw Her Back Out by Patrick Beath

She was done with it. Curving at age ten; aching ever since. Always demanding a great delicacy of movement–no running, no jumping, no dancing. Intimacy was a controlled handshake. She’d had enough, so out it went, into the trash. As it turns out, the ribs had to go too (anatomy!). Fortunately, Esther had had the…