Dad says he’s racist against the Italians because the Italians were racist again the Irish first, and Mom says Jimmy I swear to god please shut the fuck up about the fucking Italians, you are fucking Italian, and Dad says well yeah, Sheila and you’re fucking Irish and you ain’t so great either, what about it, and Erin’s not here because she had work (again), but her girlfriend, Darla, always comes to family night and she looks like she probably...
In my neighborhood, there is an asphalt walking path constricting a peaty, man-made lake like a black leather choker. Post brain-injury, my eyes prefer the world on dark mode, so I walk the circumference of that asphalt choker at night—moseying past the empty sand beach, the damp sidewalks slick with evening irrigation, and the windows of suburban houses all illuminated with gas lamp warmth. As I walk, the sky is a rusted layer cake with veins of ore. Clouds of...
Every morning Liu goes to the wharf to swim. Wearing swim trunks under his work coat and toting a jerry can of fresh water for rinsing off afterward, he takes the bus south. It is October; the high season for tourism has passed. At the wharf, Liu walks past fishmongers displaying urchins bubbling in foam boxes, past wooden racks of stingrays stretched out to dry in the sun, to reach the narrow path toward the lighthouse. He passes a woman...
I told you that I wanted you to propose to me with a dog. I imagined finding a rescue waiting for me in the kitchen, an engagement ring dangling from its collar. To tell you the truth, the dog alone would have done it. What I wanted was to commit to caring for a living thing together. You were the one who told me about the wolf sanctuary. The volunteers took in wolf cubs from zoos and wolf dogs that...
and it’s affect theory in action: watch them become the creature the dim bass-shaken pub demands they be. Posthuman peacocks up to the counter, tells the pretty bartender with the seven cartilage piercings i’ll have a sex on the beach. She winks a curious black-winged eye, says oh will you now? as she rims a glass with sugar crystals. Posthuman ducks their head and blushes—they’re a sucker and a sap for a beautiful modified body, and the bartender’s got such...
SmokeLong Quarterly has been dedicated to publishing the best flash narratives since 2003.
September 2024
Art is political, and it always has been. Nothing new here but plenty to see. In the United States—as I’m sure you’ve noticed even if you live in Botswana, Belgium, or Belize— we’re in the middle of a close race for the Presidency between an intelligent, empathetic person and a narcissistic sociopath who tried to… Continue reading New Front (continue reading)
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Bring a pen, lots of paper, and your water bottle: this is a high-intensity guided-writing work-out designed to kickstart creativity, and push you into new territory, and exercise flash muscles you didn’t even know you had. Maybe you’re stuck in a story and looking for a way to proceed. Maybe you’re looking to generate new… Continue reading High Intensity Interval Training for Flash Writers with Ingrid Jendrzejewski
Mario Aliberto III’s stories appear in Fractured Lit, trampset, Tahoma Literary Review, and others. His debut chapbook, All the Dead We Have Yet to Bury, is scheduled for publication with Chestnut Review in early 2025. He lives in Tampa Bay with his wife and daughters, and yet the dog still runs the house. Twitter: @marioaliberto3
