Big Pulp's fall edition PDF includes 28 stories and poems, topped by a gorgeous photograph by Lisa Schnellinger.

For a larger image, Lisa's biography, and gallery links, click here.

For this issue's contents or to purchase a copy, click here.

Darryl knew something was wrong when the lorry
didn’t show.

Matt Reade never missed a delivery, not even the day
his wife dropped the sprog. He loved the beach run;
it was the highlight of Darryl’s week, too. Betty used
to knock up a batch of pikelets and they’d retire to the
patio, shaking the sand from the plastic picnic chairs
and lighting the citronella candles to keep the mozzies
away. They sat for a few hours most weeks, fingers
intertwined, while Matt, who loved a good chinwag,
clasped his hands to his chest, his bottom lip quivering
in excitement as he described the picket line the townsfolk
set up when the council decided to sell the sections
below the ranges to the army.
(continue) 

They’re all in white dresses
as befitting young girls
raised in a convent
but the shadow of an apple tree
falls across the face
of the one standing at the end.
Their expressions are
benign as the bench
they pose from
except for this one
with barely a mien at all.
(continue)