Dingle Bay, Summer 2012 | Sean Woodard

Along the cliffs of Ceann Sibéal herds of sheep graze, weighed down by crimped fleece. Rough-hewn Celtic crosses, slathered in dust and moss, peek out from brittle underbrush. A boat slices through still bay waters, inboard motor stirring up foam as the throttle is revved. A gray dorsal fin approaches the vessel. With a barrel roll and flick of his flukes, Fungie the bottlenose dolphin launches into the air, slips back under the surface, and reemerges to nuzzle starboard and port sides with his rostrum. The Ring of Kerry is bathed in gold as Dingle’s red and white lighthouse guides Fungie back to the bosom of the Atlantic Ocean.


Blood Ties—Halloweenthology: Día de Muertos

As the last vestiges of daylight faded, Andrew bolted all the windows. The footfalls of his boots resounded with each step upon the floorboards. He paused at a window, slid it shut, fastened the bolt with a flick of his thumb. Through the dust speckled glass, he saw his brother emerge from the barn. Andrew pulled the curtains together, moved out onto the porch. Leaning against the railing, he observed his brother heaving a wooden bucket toward the well. . . .

Gary Knows Best

Kayla had barely tied on her apron when Pierre, the maître’ d, hurriedly pulled her aside. He pointed to the corner booth. A balding man in a pinstripe suit sat across from a woman in a burgundy dress. Kayla cringed. “Oh God, Gary’s back. Who’s he wining and dining this time?” Pierre shrugged. “All I know is that it’s his third date in two weeks, each with a different person.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry to do this, but they’re your table tonight.” “You can’t be serious. He always requests Helen.” Pierre shoved two menus into her hands. “Helen’s out with the flu. Just appease him. Besides,” he said with a wink. “Gary knows best.”

1888 Center | The Cost of Paper Vol. 4 | Crossroads

Cassie stood on the top of the overpass scanning the desolation before her. Yellowed grass and dust and cracked asphalt—the same in every direction. The wind picked up, rustled her short-cropped hair. Dust blew in her face, making her clear blue eyes water. She squinted to see in the failing light. The intersection of highway and overpass created a crossroads, but from what she could see, there was nothing in either direction.


Checking herself in the mirror. Valerie straightened her dress—it was two-years-old, but still practical for the rare social occasion. Exhausted from work and running errands, she hadn’t had much time to change but she tried to look the best she could. Roy had called two days ago. He was flying in for business and wanted to take her out for a night on the town. This afternoon she had made arrangements. Her hotel manager allowed her to book a room for the night at a discount price. She got it ju