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
The Great White Shark Spends a Fortune at the Dentist by Noémi Scheiring-Oláh
When I was six, I had a sister. She liked to call herself Red because she despised pink. She said pink tasted like cat piss. I didn’t know how cat piss tasted, so I believed her.
An Octopus with a Narwhal Tusk by Tanya Cliff
Fridays, we rarely see patients. After transcribing therapists’ notes, learning all the details of our clients’ messed-up lives—details that I will later pretend not to know as I offer people coffee, schedule appointments, collect co-pays—I spend a few hours tending to the 1000-piece puzzle in the corner.
Wish Children by Georgiana Nelsen
The wrens can’t decide. They flirt with the pretty purple tin birdhouse we have hung from the back fence.
The Tour by Marina Vaysberg
The ceilings are all over. Floors don’t seem to matter. As if we could walk in the air and band our heads under the arches from room to room.