We are currently open for manuscript submissions. Please submit your polished manuscripts of FICTION, NONFICTION or POETRY to us via email ([email protected]) for future publication…

We are currently open for general submissions in all categories except poetry. For inquiries, interviews, art/comics, and special presentation submissions email us at contact@apocalypse-confidentia…

You’re asleep. You awake to the soft sound of bells, nearly inaudible but you hear them. You seek them and walk through the door. A projector turns on in an empty otherwise unlit room. …LOVE s…

Sixty years ago this November, they whacked Bad Back Jack. Well, someone did–whether you believe it was a Masonic ritual, a CIA plot, a psychosexual thrill killing, or that Lee Harvey Oswald …

Sixty years ago today, they whacked Bad Back Jack. Well, someone did–whether you believe it was a Masonic ritual, a CIA plot, a psychosexual thrill killing, or that Lee Harvey Oswald acted al…

The golden city is quiet. The sun overhead beats down on its glittering synchrotron towers and labyrinthine infrastructure, a network of spires all pointed toward the same bright dome, a blooming g…

In Memory of Ruslana KorshunovaВечная Память “The Three Disgraces!” Olamide yelled across the hotel pool. “Beauty, elegance…mirth.”  He carried his shoes as he walked towards the hot tub…

Go ahead! Sit, Sir. I know I’m not much to look at, but if you squint, doesn’t the deep brown of my leaves remind you of chocolates from the North? Those countries where darling little houses boast…

I want to be an angelwith wings made of gunI want to be a bulldogwith teeth like a gunI want to be a flowerthat grows in the gunI want to go to heavenwhen my time is gun I want to be a gunthat shoo…

Originally published in Action, Yes For a while there was this channel on TV that started following a white horse. No matter what time you tuned in the horse would be there somewhere in frame, eati…

Excerpted from INCURABLE GRAPHOMANIA, by Anna Krivolapova, via APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTIAL PRESS. Available now. I deserve one good bender, I think. I call an ex as I walk through the King of Prussia M…

You’re asleep. You awake to the soft sound of bells, nearly inaudible but you hear them. You seek them and walk through the door. A projector turns on in an empty otherwise unlit room. …LOVE …

You deserve to hear this. In another life you might hear it different. From someone else, some other way, some other place. But this is how. This here. Because because. All life is waiting. The dog…

The slogan for Maximus Magazine, my online-only foray into the realm of indie lit, is “No ideas but in people.” As an overly-obvious “reversal” of William Carlos Williams’ much more famous “No idea…

no home in my fatherless fatherlandonly a coach class ticket up and downgrey winter rail lines thanks be to god forrusted electrical poles laced with dead vinesand dead trees clinging to black rive…

They gave me a card, and the card gave me carte blanche, which is a fancy French way of saying, I could do whatever and go wherever the motherfuck I wanted. In bold, underlined, all capital letters…

1 They drove through Blue Hills Reservation to the ring road. On its edge was a rock pit the locals used for target shooting. A squat, black-haired man stood beside a Silverado and fired at plastic…

Pale Townie

*** THE MAN WITH A LAPSE OF JUDGMENTby Adrian Silva “Count down with me.”  “Four.” “Three.” “Two.” “One.”  “Listen to your heartbeat.” “Feel the way your heart rate raises as you inhale “…

The fog was coming in heavy, heavier than usual for Natchitoches that time of year. Slim watched it coalesce and hang, make specters of man and machine. Blinking neon turned to dull drunk haze. Rag…

A hundred and ten years after the fact, it’s clear that all industry of Mankind in the twentieth and twenty-first century had been mobilized as a kind of revenge against the iceberg that sank…

— Stephanie Yue Duhem is writing out of Austin, TX. She can be found online at www.sydpoetry.com. 

The message to kill me went out at 7:30. Mayor Faison was a guest of the I-Team on Channel7 Eyewitness News. Three decades in the job, but old Freddy Faison still looks great in front of the camera…

A pot, simmering in the kitchen, comes to a boil– Signaling to the bereaved that now is the time to engage in the ceremonial post-memorial meal.  The dour facades are struck with the une…

Grocery Store Phantasy My salmon steak heart, alive, swaddled in plastic,beats slow and soft to the touch,bubblegum pink methylmercury lust. You rainbow trout, with a pearl in your mouth,could I ha…

He fed her shots of Fireball, poured out into little clear plastic cups. She gagged and sputtered at first, the burning spirits gushed out her nose, red like liquid magma. He was solicitous, offeri…

Dead dog She does not want to moveout of the way of me, of the tremblingrage of staying naked in the rain which caught her dead throat.She has arthritis & does not move,she looks at me & sh…

“Tell me what’s been going on.” I said. “Who do you tell?” He said. “I don’t tell anyone. If you are in danger of hurting yourself or someone else I may have to alert authorities. If you are in dan…

1 At three in the morning, the phone beeped—my brother Darren. “I have work tomorrow,” I said. “It’s tomorrow now, little man.”  He’d recently left prison and lived at a half-way house in Camb…

by Renzo Novatoretranslated by Fergus Cullen What happens when a very angry young communist reads Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, Baudelaire and Wilde? Something like the sententiae translated below. F…

Plainsong I I float In the aegean Sun beam solution Dust glider In choir-bells Flight of beer Kiss The felt soft wind Of the sprawling grass Sun streaks On the glass Blind Warm skin Through indirec…

mummified by moss, preserved in peat wiser than Egypt beneath the spongy hills of the boglands they sleep marinating in humic acids and sphagnum, unlucky in life all-too-lucky in death, an army of …

The French Trees of Cinema french girl blowing her french smoke in my anglo-hungarian face as I think about montage as an answer to this life a different kind of flashlight asking after the reason …

a deleted scene 5 Brigadier General Bill Degall was your father. He observed the Dreyfus family home engulfed. A transparent quarantine tent. And he must’ve thought about Ori, “the little scu…

IG & KINSK Igor StravinskyFellated Klaus KinskiKlaus slipped him a finskyIg slipped out the door JUDGE ROY BEAN Judge Roy Bean was in cahootsWith a mean motherfucker in cowboy bootsThey’d…

Too skinny to fight, too timid to rob people, too nervous to scam in broad daylight, Haakim Patterson turned to the only route he knew. Internet scams.  Haakim sat in his stiff computer chair,…

No Country for Old Men — Jacob Everett is the editor-in-chief and publisher of APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTIAL