Fiction
What Else is
There to Say?by Emily Ruth Verona
There’s a gun in the lockbox above the refrigerator. Don’t expect it to go off though. This ain’t one of those stories, where a pistol is mentioned at the very start, almost in passing, and then used later on to carry out some grisly deed. I’ve heard stories like that—have told stories like that. This ain’t one of them. But it’s important to know that the gun was there—it had always been there, between the big red broken flashlight and a wicker basket of misfit magnets. I don’t know why the magnets, all chipped or cracked or missing their magnetic strips, have stuck around for so long. I expect sentimentality has something to do with it. Out here—nothing but the land and the sky and your own damn head—it’s easy to get sentimental ab
