Letter From The Editor - Issue 68 - April 2019

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Issue 63
by K. D. Julicher
A World Without
by Aimee Ogden
Comrades in Arms
by Bud Sparhawk
Sin Titulo
by Dan Stout
IGMS Audio
The Life Cycles of Goldfish
Read by Stuart Jaffe
Vintage Fiction
The Rhythm Man
by James Beamon

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Sin Titulo
    by Dan Stout

Sin Titulo
Artwork by Nick Greenwood

Over the course of a single summer Egan Kulwicki turned fifteen, fell in love, and got his ass kicked, roughly in that order.

Falling in love came suddenly, when the Patels' daughter came home from college. Egan saw her when he came home from the games store. He brought his bike to a screeching stop and stared at the Patels' driveway, where Cynthia was unpacking her beaten-up Toyota. She waved and he stood slack-jawed by his bike before fleeing inside to peek back through the window. At least twenty, she was an older woman, worldly and intimidating. Even from behind the curtain, Egan couldn't look at her directly for fear that she might look back. And then what would he do? At some point Cynthia had transformed from his neighbor, a slightly older kid who was nice to him, who'd let him play her video games and told him about new bands, into someone unapproachable.

So he didn't approach her.

But she danced through his thoughts that summer, while he hung out with his friends, while he collected and painted miniature armies in his bedroom, and especially as he did the yard chores.

Cynthia was often outside, reading a book or tending to an herb garden, and Egan caught glimpses of her as she walked along the fence separating their yards. She only appeared in the cracks between slats, a teasing vision more absent than not. It was exactly the kind of relationship he could handle.

He was trimming the grass along the fence and running through hypothetical conversations with Cynthia when he realized someone was talking to him.


Turning off the string trimmer, he looked up and froze. Cynthia's head was above the fence, framed by her hands. A tiny metal stud in her nose twinkled in the sunlight, and Egan got his first good look at her since her return.

Her gray eyes had brown flecks which made them look like polished rocks, their size reduced just slightly by the lenses of her glasses. The eyeglass frames were tortoise shell, complimenting both the brown flecks of her eyes and the black sheen of her hair, which was meticulously tussled. Like all of her, the hair was slovenly perfection.

She wore a half smile that brought out a dimple as she asked, "Do you have any batteries?"

"Batteries?" He'd never prepared himself for a battery conversation.

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