Issue #14
Good People by Josh Russell

We take our boys to church. It’s been a while. We remember the Hello My Name Is badges stuck between their then-tiny shoulder blades when we fetched them from childcare the last time we came.

read more
Three Days by Salvatore Difalco

I opened my eyes from a deep sleep with a start. Nonna’s toothless face hovered over mine, her eyes swollen and red, her breath hot and coffee-tinged.

read more
Migration by Joy Allen

In the thick of fall migration, all the city kept watch. We’d heard the warnings; this year would yield more birds than usual, louder and hungrier than any season before.

read more
Pretty Girl by Jacqueline Doyle

Her head throbs. She has no idea how long it’s been since he came up behind her in the dark parking garage, one hand squeezing her throat, one holding a gun to her head, whispering “Don’t scream, pretty girl.”

read more
No Monster by Eric Bosse

I wanted chocolate chip cookies, so I made a batch with extra chocolate chips then passed off my indulgence as a gesture of love for my wife and kids.

read more

The Girl In Purple by Bobbie Ann Mason

Near dawn, Dennis Moore saw the iron gate to the courtyard inch open and the wisp of a girl squeeze through, clanging the gate behind her. Two minutes later, on the boardwalk, she halted as if for an invisible dog, then resumed her dog-walker gait. He followed her...

Hermit & Bleeding Faucet by Ana María Shua

With the population now well aware of the physical and mental benefits of asceticism (low cholesterol, bradycardia, a delicate sense of happiness, spiritual fulfillment), everyone wants to become a hermit.

Things I Tell the Mermaid by Keith J. Powell

I wasn’t drowning when you heard me calling out, I was swimming. Those were yawps of exhilaration. My ex didn’t throw me overboard, we mutually agreed I’d dive into the Pacific.

Amelia Earhart Knew Seven Latin Words for Fire by Joe Kapitan

Ignis, the flaming wreckage, bubbling rubber, liquified cloth, her skin charred and blistering, acrid smoke, the tiny thunders of survival’s kicks

Cleave by Olga Dermott-Bond

Before anything else, the mottled smell of blood and sawdust from across the street.