new writing

“The Little Mermaid Turned Forty” by Alice Kinerk

NEW FICTION

(c/o Disney)

And decided she’d been wrong to give up life underwater for some rando prince and a pair of legs. However she no longer cared about having no voice, because nowadays people just text. 

Well she divorced the dude, and moved out the next day. She packed her bags, rented a U-Haul, and paid first, last and a damage deposit on a one-bedroom oceanside condo about forty minutes outside the city. 

All of which, up to this point, sounds great. Very radical, very female empowerment or whatever. Except that part of the reason she hated her legs is because they’d developed cellulite. And her feet were now crisscrossed with blue veins. And her toenails, underneath the polish, were thick and yellowed.

Also, no one ever said being a middle-aged divorced former mermaid is easy. Like so many of us, she’s struggling. We’re talking about a woman who holed up in the palace playing sexdoll to the prince for decades. She has no GED, no work history, and very few marketable skills. Personal references are out of date and extremely difficult for potential employers to contact. Not to mention, despite the prevalence of texting, sometimes humans really do need old school verbal communication skills.  

And it’s not like the palace pays alimony. Ha ha. Yeah right. As if.

So, with federal minimum wage a miserly seven point two five bucks per hour, with the price of oceanfront condos upward of three grand a month, with grocery store sticker shock… You get it.  

These days, ironically, she plays a mermaid downtown, in the central tank at the aquarium, which helps. Government assistance covers the rest. But she’s struggling.

The truth is, I need to stop clicking on little human interest stories such as this. Because when I find a story I loved so much as a kid turned out not so happily-ever-after in the long run, I start dwelling on it. Then I get sad.

Alice Kinerk spends her free time attempting to make complicated desserts, most of which are tasty failures, such as the time she tried to make a croquembouche.  She’s published dozens of stories. Read more at alicekinerk.com.

An Excerpt from “Fame and Fortune” by Alan Swyer

NEW FICTION

Despite the lingering sense that he’d been conned, duped, or sold a bill of goods – the exact term depended on his feelings at a given moment – Jeff found himself not merely adjusting to Southern California life, but actually enjoying it. Having lucked into an apartment a block and-a-half from the beach in a still somewhat funky part of Venice, he loved the climate, which allowed him to run or bike at dawn on Ocean Front walk without encountering sleet, hail, or  horrendous humidity. He got a kick out of being in a place that had more yoga teachers than Mumbai, as well as ubiquitous Pilates studios, gyms big and small, and even a place called  Stretchlab. And he marveled at the restaurants catering to diets unheard of on his home turf. Though he had encountered vegetarian before, he hadn’t been aware of Ethiopian vegetarian, or  multiple examples of paleo, keto, gluten-free, Atkins, plus something called Zone. 

As for the infamous LA traffic, it only became a bother when, in a used Camry that made his cousin cringe, he had to make an emergency run to Children’s Hospital on the eastern edge  of Hollywood. 

In the low-rise Santa Monica office he shared with his cousin, the division of labor was clear. Steve treated the offspring of the “high-ranking industry folk,” while Jeff tended to the sons and daughters of what were termed “the civilians.” 

That, Jeff quickly came to realize, meant that he was spared the fawning, pandering, and  indulging that Steve felt provided the pathway to the success. 

COMING SOON to New Pop Lit!

“nature” by Ken Kakareka

nEW pOETRY

the one
thing
you should
never fight
is
nature.
if it
isn’t
meant
to be
why
will it
into
existence?
if it
is
meant
to be
why
deny?
it is
a battle
you will
lose
9 times
out of
10
and the
one time
that it
tricked you
into
believing
you won,
it will
haunt you
like the
carcass
of
a rotting pig.

***

Ken Kakareka has appeared numerous times at Fast Pop Lit.

His publication, Bullshit, is available at Amazon.

“Faith By Any Means Necessary” by Brannon O’Brennan

NEW SHORT FICTION

Father surveyed the garage. It belonged to his neighbor, the hippie who never locked anything and was away on a “Vision-something or other.” He scanned slowly left to right, then right to left, as an expression of forlorn resolve settled slowly onto his face. He took off an unkissed crucifix and shelved it between an ancient can of paint and a small wine press.

He made sure that there were no gaps around the garage door and put towels at the base of it to ensure there would be no leakage. He held a pint of sweet liquor he found in his neighbor’s freezer. As it thawed, an ice-cold tear drop ran down from the neck to his hand. He got in and started his neighbor’s car, choked down the pint and a handful of Ambien.

When he woke he smelled his former internal acids mixed with the sweet liquor, now rorschached all over his frock. He was not in heaven or hell, but the purgatory of a dreamer’s garage. The first miracle of his seventy years and a sign that the connection had been restored.

He shut off the Tesla, collected the towels and went back to his house.

Brannon O’Brennan lives in Northern Virginia, USA. His work has been published in Isele Magazine, Cinnabar Moth Literary Collections, and in The George Washington University Press. His literary fiction short story “Symbiosis” was published in Secant Publishing’s anthology titled “Best Stories on the Human Impact of Climate Change” and that story was nominated for the Secant Publishing Prize. He’s also have published a short story collection through Alien Buddha Press.

An Excerpt from “The Meteorologist” by Olaf Kroneman

NEW FICTION

One of the pleasures of being a family physician was watching people grow and develop. I tried to help them along the way from cradle to adulthood and the grave. They have given much back to me. I have learned from them. I got meaning.

I learned that people with autism sometimes are blessed with special gifts. They used uncharted areas of the brain to amaze and fascinate.

Sarah taught me about the weather. She focused on the highs and lows of the day. She could predict it. I was not sure how she did it. I suspect it had something to do with her innate sensitivity to circadian rhythms, bariatric pressure, or the phases of the moon or something, but her predictions were so accurate that the local weatherperson would call her to confirm and compare notes before going on TV with a forecast.

Her reputation spread until all three local networks consulted with Sarah before going on air.

Sarah would put her hands on the window and, through touch, would divine temperature and humidity. She was correct. I tried to do it. I was always wrong. I functioned poorly in her world.

COMING SOON TO NEW POP LIT!

An Excerpt from “What Does It Cost to Be Civil?” by Tom Ray

NEW FICTION

As they started out of the driveway for their regular morning walk Albert said, “That looks like the car that followed us yesterday.” It was parked up the street in the direction they headed. Elaine slowed her pace.

“Come on, keep going,” he said, taking his phone from his pocket.

As they got closer Albert could make out a man behind the wheel, although the tinted windshield kept him from getting a good look. When he raised his phone to take a picture the car drove off. 

Elaine said, “What does he want?”

“I don’t know. Don’t worry about it. If we need to, we can run him down from his license plate number.”

A few days later as they lunched on the patio of a restaurant, Albert saw the blue Malibu circling the parking lot. 

“There’s that son of a bitch who’s been following us.”

COMING SOON TO NEW POP LIT!

An Excerpt from “The Memorial” by Brent King

NEW FICTION ALERT

He came because he had a “lump” at the injection site. I finally got him to pull his pants down, after I offered the usual bribe, turkey sandwich and a fruit cup, and I saw it immediately, an arterial pseudoaneurysm as big and red as a fresh plum. He missed the vein and damaged the wall of the artery. I touched it as gently as I could, and felt the blood pulsing through my gloves before he shoved my hand away.

“That fuckin’ hurts, man.”

“Look, Tim,” I said, hoping to scare him just enough to make him take it seriously, “you’ve got a weak spot in the wall of your femoral artery. It could rupture at any moment. If it does you’ll bleed out in a few minutes. I need to get an ultrasound of it and get the vascular surgeons to see you. I think you’re going to need an operation.”

“Just give me something for the fuckin’ pain,” he said, “and I want another san-which.”

I knew I couldn’t give Tim a sandwich. The surgeons were going to be mad enough about the first one, but I knew him well enough to know it wasn’t the time to explain or argue. That could wait until we figured out what to do. But Tim had a new nurse that day, and she didn’t know him, hadn’t learned how to redirect him when he started making demands. So, when he asked for ginger ale and she told him, in a matter-of-fact way, that we didn’t have any, he said “Fuck you, bitch.” He tore off his hospital gown and threw it at her. Then he stormed out of the ER, cursing us all the way to the door.

COMING SOON to New Pop Lit!

“Tide” by Ken Kakareka

NEW POETRY

(c/o thespruce.com)

i was
sitting
underneath
a great
big
avocado tree
throwing a
pity party,
drinkin
& thinkin
what’s the
point?
when one
dropped
& clunk me
square on
the noggin.
i looked
around
startled:
who else
saw that?
no one!
it was
a sign
from god.
then
a sexy woman
and her
beautiful dog
walked by
smiling
at me.
my god!
another
sign –
how quickly
the tide
can turn!

Ken Kakareka’s latest novel is Summer of Irresponsibility (Alien Buddha Press, 2023). His words have appeared or are on their way in numerous rags including Gargoyle Magazine, The Gorko Gazette, and A Thin Slice of Anxiety. A list of selected publications can be found at kenkakareka.com.

“Today’s Poetry Scene” by Brian Pilling

NEW POETRY

(photo c/o ctvnews.ca)

If you’re reading this poem, be sure to use the promo code: Percy
Shelley, which entitles you to a free lunch at the prestigious
Rainbow Room, high atop Rockefeller Center. Be sure to tip the
Russian-speaking maître d’ with a crisp green Andrew Jackson.
From your table hob-nob with the mega yacht captains who list
and lean to the right of you. If you haven’t yet, please note this
poem’s lack of slant and internal rhyme, the lack of line breaks,
and the small print—alcoholic beverages not included. But
foremost, please alert your server to any allergies, particularly to
the mixing of politics, religion, and art.

XXX

Brian Pilling has been published in The Main Street Rag, The Berkshire Review, Down In The Dirt, The Droplet Journal, Missive Magazine, and other literary journals. His chapbook The Poet’s Struggle is published by Bottlecap Press. Brian is a recent winner in The Cape Cod Times poetry contest. His previous appearance at Fast Pop Lit was here.