VerbSap.com

Summer 2008

In summer the song
sings itself
William Carlos Williams

Fiction>1000 Words

D. E. Fredd: The Teenybopper Zen Master
Life is a river; a warm, blossom strewn, highly naked river. 

Paul Silverman: The Kid Machine
“Didn’t you ever hear of a dog prenup? They do them now, you know.”

Paula Bomer: Wear And Tear
Hi, my name is Brenda Lynn Cartwright and I am 14 years old and I go to school on a special bus in Binghamton New York...I am writing to ask you for the most important thing that I want for Christmas. Will you adopt me Angelina Jolie?

William Robinson: Kinesiology
Ten years later came JackO. He had dark hair, the color of an Oreo...He said he was clairvoyant. Knew we’d hook up and I’d carry around his baby batter. He was spot on about the baby part.

Peter DeMarco: Eraser
In between shows, the church pastor stocks up on chocolate at the glass candy counter. He never misses an action movie. "Do you have a favorite chocolate, Henry," he asks me. "I guess it would be Oh, Henry," I say. It was my father's favorite.

Laura Gibson: Greased Pig
I line up on the first base line with the other kids, and if I look over my shoulder into the bleachers, I can see him. My future Dad. He’s clapping for me even though I haven’t started running yet. If I catch the pig, my future Dad says he’ll take me for pizza.

Jamey Genna: Reruns
Dena calls me up and tells me that she is going to kill this chick once and for all. Dena is this girl I met at LaMyxx one day while I was drinking green tea...I made the mistake of talking to her for a while; then I made another bigger mistake of giving her my cell-phone number.

Neil Crabtree: Lit On The Side
“I’m sorry, Brenda...You’re a wonderful person. I enjoy being around you, enjoy sharing things with you...But,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Your writing sucks.”

Tom Lassiter: South Florida Gardening
Lawns count...Hell, if eyes are windows to the soul, or however that goes, lawns are windows to the lives within a home.

Michelle Reale: You Are My Sunshine
We call my boy “Sunny,” not Sonny, because he is always so happy. His real name is Salvadore, the Puerto Rican version, not the Italian one...His head is a bit big, but we are hoping that he’ll grow into it.

Chigozie John Obioma: The Sower of Green Things
"Motu’s story is one that continually overwhelms me with grief. She was born with a kind of beauty that ruined her."

Fiction<1000 Words

Brandi Wells: Delicious
I could make a suit of Spam. Spam pants, Spam socks, Spam shirt, Spam trousers. I could never go around dogs, but that’s okay, because I don’t like dogs.

Anne Germanacos: Socialism
Most days, we pick snails off the wall and smash them with a green plastic clog. Maybe, even if you think you wouldn't do it yourself, you can understand how it was enticing.

Whitman Bolles: The Day I Sold My Vinyl
My mother had just died. My girlfriend of seven years had left me for a 50-year-old man. I was trying to quit drinking and not succeeding...I drank the liquid morphine left over from Mom’s cancer. Really. All of this led me to reject the one thing that helped, the one thing I liked: Iggy Pop, Patti Smith, the Buzzcocks, Bowie, the Dead.

Charles Dodd White: Norman Mailer Is Dead
My literary baby-daddy is gone. Sucked under by the sink of his time smacked heart. The long pull toward greatness is done. I read it this morning over organic eggs and Soy milk.

Dianne McKinght: A Good Ending, The Gulf, Last Blue Sky Mile
A beginning is up to you.

Robert Scotellaro: Space Travel
When you think about it,” Angie said. “When you really think about the Earth spinning and all, it’s enough to make you nauseous.”

Leslie Hale Roberts: Where Someone You Loved Has Died
I knew someone had died when I heard the motorbike coming really loud and fast and then stop, right below our building. It just stopped for about a second and then you could hear a ‘pock’ sound, or maybe more like when you drop an egg on the counter.

Zosimo Quibilan, Jr.: Gel
Dindo regretted rushing over. It was taking a while for someone to open the gate for him...The rain started to run down his face.  The styling gel on his hair had mixed with it and stung his eyes.

Creative/Nonfiction

Mike Collins: Landmarks
After a while my friend Brad came by and we started to talk, and after a while he asked where Tony was. I said, "Shit, I don't know, I hope he drowned". We waited another minute or so, and we both started to freak out, because Tony still hadn't come up.

Colleen Wells: Mr. Tufford
“Scratch harder,” he instructs, adding with a smile, “or I’ll put you upstairs with my collection of English majors.” I don’t comment. I’ve learned that if I protest he’ll get more graphic. He continues anyway. “Oh, yes, Miss Fearrin,” he cackles. “I’ve got their heads in formaldehyde next to my ex-wife’s.”

Kristina Moriconi: Spilling
Last week, my mother reminded me again that I almost killed her during childbirth.

Art Gallery

SFMOMA throws a birthday party for the flamboyant Frida Kahlo.