Issue 5, along with a brand new year, is here! Here’s to good things at Speech Bubble Magazine:
“Good morning folks! We’re Bob and Jo Parsons, and we’re from North Carolina. Where are you all from?” “Hi. Mark; my wife Rachel. From Boston.” “Lovely to meet you both. Our hostess said that both of the coffee pots are the same, regular.” […] “Here’s some biscuits for you. Would you all like ham with...
From behind the bar, Luisa and I watched the man in the cream suit and sunglasses sitting at a table on the cafe’s streetside patio. Though alone, he had ordered a French press with two mugs. He sipped from his; the other sat empty across from him. After sitting for about fifteen minutes, he checked...
Can you tell us something about your family? Yes. My mother likes cats and dogs. So, what stands behind the philosopher-poet —- his mother? No, his mother’s philosopher-poet. In your poetry, why don’t you pay more attention to the outer world? Because it’s cold. It’s very cold. And I don’t ski. Where do you go...
With the smell of dead leaves and the biting wind hinting at coming snow I knew I was home. Though New York City is only one hundred and fifty miles east, it never has that fragrance of late fall like Pennsylvania – the sweet mold of decaying leaves, the scent of back to school, and...
We sit on my parents faded couch his hand rests on his worn black jeans. I touch his wrist he turns his palm I run my finger over dirt engrained calluses fresh scrapes half healed scabs I push my fingers between his. He closes his hand tightly around mine looks at our hands I really...
Graffiti scars. $100 reward for information August 10, 1998 The photo in the newspaper bright blue and yellow tag spray painted on the side of the concession stand at the Swoyersville Little League Field August 9, 1998 We were sitting in the front yard, Hey, we have something to show you. You drove us...
I’m sorry I can’t come to the party. Mom found my jar, you know, the one I mentioned, the one with my spit? Once she figured out what it was she kind of schizzed out. She made me go to this therapist who asked me about school and how it is at home and whether...
Well, here it is. After a few delays with the website and the current issue, we are happy to reveal Issue Four of Speech Bubble Magazine for your reading pleasure. This issue includes featured stories from P. Keith Boran, Michael Tilley and Eirik Gumeny. Enjoy the new issue!
She died. Her body laid broken, unable to function in a sea of tubes, amongst the persistent beeps and coats of white. They did all they could, for sure, but she expired just the same, smelling of disinfectant, of desperation, of death. And all Agnes managed to whisper was “why.” And she cried. All because...
Clark returned the shovel — now covered in blood and grease-paint — to his shoulder. The mime fell to the ground in a heap. He was pretending to be a corpse. The resemblance was uncanny. “Well,” said Clark, running his hand under his nose, “that’s done.” “Yes…” said Jeph slowly, scratching the back of his...
The boy looked forward to the beach and wasn’t going to let a little thing like a floating corpse spoil an otherwise fine vacation. It was his gym teacher, bobbing against the driftwood, her foot caught in the slimy rope from the pier. He thought about how hard it had been since the economy destroyed...
