Issue #3
Penultimate by D.R. Wagner

I’ve got this house in the desert. They won’t find us there. You can wear a rose in your hair. Tomorrow is close, still small, still inert.

read more
Primary Colors by Zac Locke

You stand before a platter of all the cheeses you could want. Swiss semi-soft and Parmigiano-Reggiano. Manchego from Spain and Basque Bleu.

read more
THE STORIES by Jenny Hayes

She tells them so often. I know them all by heart. If the Brady Bunch comes up in conversation, Celeste will always mention how she and Anna wanted to form a band called the Bloody Bradies, with everyone dressed like the Brady kids after a massacre.

read more
Questions by Cezarija Abartis

Keep your courage up, Paula once rather pompously advised her mother. Mother had been in the middle of a crying jag, which careened into a rant.

read more
Nocturne by Sarah Ann Winn

Our little one runs around the sky without thought of finding a friend. Typical of only children, she does not always play well with others.

read more

I’ll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours by Eliot Li

I tell you I’ve only ever shown it to a girl who I met on a tour bus in Moscow, where I was traveling with my parents. She had bad acne, and she really liked Duran Duran.

Fulfilling by Fiona McKay

Kate is not ‘imagining it’. There are small tufts of pale fluff on her neck, and no, it’s not ‘just a tissue in the washing machine’ as John suggests. There’s nothing drifting off his shirts, nothing clinging to Ella’s favourite black top, Josh’s Minecraft t-shirts. It’s more solid than tissue, just on her clothes. And only she can see it.

Get Your Authentic Stardust Here by JP Relph

The night the sky cracked, I was sprawled on the hood of my car beside that good-for-nothing boy, naming constellations, ignoring his fingers on my neck.

The Storyteller of Aleppo by Donna Obeid

In the barren cold camp, you wear a dusty cape and top hat, wave my cane as if it were a wand and tell me your dream-stories, one after the next, your words spun and tossed like tethers into the air.

Bog Iron by Shane Larkin

We make stops on the way to our bog plot to look at the little skeletons. Dad tells me about them. Curlews and skylarks in dancing poses. Tiny skulls.