Featured Posts

Close-up of the pages of five books

My Life is a Book

by Camille Hatcher My life is a book. The Book writes itself. And real people, strangers and familiars, consult it daily. Some, to follow a trend set by best-selling book lists; others, to obtain unfiltered gossip about people they know. All attempt to uncover a thirteen-year-long mystery: its author. Idiots….

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Person sitting on the floor meditating

Meditative Fugue

by Rob Armstrong Let’s begin by finding a comfortable seated position. The world will tear itself apart within a hundred years. You know how it botched things with COVID-19. We bickered about wearing masks or not wearing masks. Shooting up vaccine or not shooting up vaccine. A Chinese lab made…

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A pair of work boots with a rose inside one of them

Man Smells

by John Grey I walked through my sister’s bedroomto get to my own,sniffed out the dregs of their perfumes. A whiff of imitation Parislit up the depths of my nostrils,and traces of powder tickled my throat. I was twelve years oldand there were no man smells in the house. No…

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Crowd at a concert

Madonna

by E.P. Lande “Aaron, who’s Madonna?” my mother asked. At ninety-five, her last recollections of pop culture had probably been Bing Crosby or Kate Smith. “She’s a current pop icon, Mom.” In reality, I didn’t know that much about Madonna either. Madonna had scheduled two concerts in Montreal. To Steve,…

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Dark room with dresser and open door

Eyes That Saw Nothing

by Kevin Jones Mia always thought that maybe, just maybe, if she held her breath long enough the world would fade away just for a second. She thought that the quiet wouldn’t feel so quiet anymore as if it followed her and the ringing in her ears would subside to…

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Wood stove

Burning Papers

by Joan Mazza Past tax day, end of April, below freezingthis morning, iced water for the strays,a good day for a fire in the wood stove,started with old newspapers. A headlinefrom 2018 says, Philip Roth is Still Here.No. He isn’t. A day to burn more paper—heat from receipts, bills paid…

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Many small lit candles

Bright Blue Flame Like Me

by Elise Swanson Ochoa I pay these bastards every week because someone told me it was good for me. I pay her too. I pay my monthly subscriptions. I hate taillights, tire screeches, and my tight neck. “Mongolia was a dream.” “I feel your gratitude.” “Embrace it; your aura is…

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Bridge at sunset

A Taste of Relief

by Paige Medlock This story contains mentions of suicide. The craving for memories and emotions burned my throat with desperation in an almost insanity-like frenzy. In the darkness, I paced and contemplated taking the life of a man who wanted nothing more than to take his own. I questioned myself…

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Close-up shot of green grass

Always Greener

by Jason Grant Blue grass, brighter than what I had everin my humble, simple, quick life laid eyeson was growing near the garden—out there,where the Hat Man waited for me to try seeing for myself if He was reallya thing, like the puzzle pieces I hadlaid out on the kitchen…

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Man sitting with his head in his hands

The Lament of a Gargoyle

by Christian Velilla (This story contains attempted suicide.) I find myself in that icy corner of my room, with my body lost in inaudible sobs and tears that I only feel running down my cheeks, but they are nothing more than vivid flashes of my imagination; like little diamonds that…

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