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    Apex Magazine Issue 20
    Apex Magazine Issue 20
    Apex Magazine Issue 20
    Ebook63 pages54 minutes

    Apex Magazine Issue 20

    By Apex Book Company

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    About this ebook

    Apex Magazine is an online digital zine of genre short fiction.

    FICTION
    The Itaewon Eschatology Show by Douglas F. Warrick
    The Tolling of Pavlov's Bells by Seanan McGuire
    Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Mary Robinette Kowal

    POETRY
    "The Unkindest Cut" by Mike Allen
    "The Terminal City" by Preston Grassman

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherApex Book Company
    Release dateJan 2, 2011
    ISBN9781458056030
    Apex Magazine Issue 20

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      Submission Calendar

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      AMERICAN POETRY REVIEW Stanley Kunitz Memorial Prize GAUDY BOY Poetry Book Prize LEEWAY FOUNDATION Transformation Awards FREE LOST HORSE PRESS Idaho Prize for Poetry MCGILL UNIVERSITY Montreal International Poetry Prize PITTSBURG STATE UNIVERSITY Cow

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      Book preview

      Apex Magazine Issue 20 - Apex Book Company

      COPYRIGHTS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      The Itaewon Eschatology Copyright 2011 by Douglas F. Warrick

      The Tolling of Pavlov’s Bells Copyright 2011 by Seanan McGuire

      Tomorrow and Tomorrow Copyright 2006 by Mary Robinette Kowal

      The Terminal City Copyright 2011 by Preston Grassmann

      The Unkindest Kiss Copyright 2011 by Mike Allen

      Publisher—Jason Sizemore

      Fiction Editor—Catherynne M. Valente

      Senior Editor—Gill Ainsworth

      Submission Editors—Zakarya Anwar, Ferrett Steinmetz, Martel Sardina, Chris Einhaus, Mari Adkins, George Galuschak, Deanna Knippling, Laura Long, Sarah Olson, Tommy Delk, Lillian Cohen-Moore, Patrick Tomlinson, Katherine Khorey

      Cover designed by Justin Stewart

      Cover art Cat and Dog by Viktors Kozers

      ISSN: 2157-1406

      Copyright 2011 Apex Publications

      Apex Publications

      PO Box 24323

      Lexington, KY 40524

      Please visit us at http://www.apexbookcompany.com

      Table of Contents

      Short Fiction

      —§—

      The Itaewon Eschatology

      By Douglas F. Warrick

      The Tolling of Pavlov’s Bells

      By Seanan McGuire

      Tomorrow and Tomorrow

      By Mary Robinette Kowal

      Poetry

      —§—

      The Terminal City

      By Preston Grassmann

      The Unkindest Kiss

      By Mike Allen

      —§—

      Submission Guidelines

      The Itaewon Eschatology Show

      by Douglas F. Warrick

      She sips her coffee like a lady, and then downs her whisky like a champ. Her name is not Alice, but that is what I call her, because her Korean name is hard on my tongue and she doesn’t like to hear me mispronounce it. Her hair is brown, the kind of brown that you call black until you get close enough to her to get it caught on the sides of your mouth, close enough that in the morning, you find strands of it on your pillow. But the lights in this place, strung high, blue and red, they make her hair look blonde. Christ Jesus, they lie to you.

      She says, Don’t go to Itaewon. Her English is good. Much better than my Korean. She tells me this on the nights when she’ll be working.

      And I tell her I won’t. Even though I will.

      Those are the only words we share at dinner. I keep turning to the waiter and saying, Yugio. And he keeps coming over.

      I keep saying, Coffee.

      And he keeps saying, 피피?"

      And I keep saying, Whisky.

      And he keeps saying, 키?

      And we drink our 커피 and our 위스키 until eleven. And then it’s time for her to go home and for me to go someplace else.

      I meet Kidu in front of the place where the taxis gather like fat blue fish, lazy and overfed. He has a beer in each hand. One for me and one for him. From the torso up, he is dressed like a clown. His waistcoat is purple, his felt porkpie hat is red, and the tails of his black-and-white checkered jacket are long enough to brush the sidewalk. The tails will look better when he straps on the stilts, more natural. He pulls his cigarettes out of one pocket of his jeans and sticks one between his painted lips. In the dark like this, the white and black greasepaint makes his face look like an inkblot.

      When he gets close enough to me, he plucks the cigarette out of his mouth, cocks his head to one side and buzzes his lips. He sounds like a kazoo.

      Cute, I say. I thought we were getting dressed in Itaewon.

      I got it out of the way, he says. You’ve got the stilts?

      Both pairs are sticking out of the top of my backpack, stark and obvious like the stolen bones of some enormous and forgotten animal, and I know he can see them so I don’t answer.

      We hail a cab. Kidu tells him where to go. When we are together, Kidu talks, and I am silent. When I am with Alice, it’s the same way. In Korea, I don’t ever have to talk to anyone.

      Once at dinner, Alice told me, It isn’t like the States. It’s not something that nobody does; it’s something that everyone does. Women expect it. Men don’t even think about it, they just do it.

      That’s just so fucked up, I said.

      She wrapped a piece of barbequed pork in a piece of lettuce and slid it into her mouth, occupying that space so that she wouldn’t have to respond.

      You’ll get hurt, I told her. Don’t you have a pimp or something?

      I have a boss, she

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