False Notes and Other Fragrances by Rowan Tate
From the time she was seven, Ketra could smell lies. Some reeked of burnt hair. Some of overripe plums. A half-truth had the scent of chewed mint, stale and thin.
Mud Lungs by Jenna Grieve
The pond cradles them in its mouth like teeth. The statues. Cracked and shattered. They’re reskinned and restitched with moss and algae.
Marc by Nathan Leslie
Was a big man and unafraid. Six foot five, two ninety seven–he felt as though he was invulnerable. He would do it all–jump out of an airplane, roller coasters galore, cliff diving, spelunking, guns, motorcycles, hand gliding, drink anyone under the table.
We Stutter Less When We Sing by Nora Nadjarian
It was raining and he was sad and tall. He was waiting for the Facebook woman to appear, it was all arranged.
Julian by Nathan Leslie
The gourmand had eaten everything. Former restaurant reviewer for the local newspaper, he was as familiar with sautéed crickets as with eel bladders and haggis.