by Caitlin O’Halloran It was seconds after midnight, and an old woman was sitting on a park bench with a lit cigarette in her mouth, holding a loaf of bread in her lap. She tore off small pieces of bread and threw them to the dozens of birds that had gathered around her. She was alone for many hours, just her and the birds, who stayed with her even…
by Caitlin O’Halloran It was seconds after midnight, and an old woman was sitting on a park bench with a lit cigarette in her mouth, holding a loaf of bread in her lap. She tore off small pieces of bread and threw them to the dozens of birds that had gathered around her. She was alone for many hours, just her and the birds, who stayed with her even…
by Ivan de Monbrison I should have died much sooner, right after Dad died. I should have killed myself very quickly, without even taking the time to think about it too much, because afterwards you hesitate, you procrastinate, and it’s already over for good. But my first real suicidal urge…
by Abigail Cain Mother still doesn’t know about the cans of saliva-soaked scabs despite their five-year presence beneath my bed. When I was fifteen, I climbed the oak tree in the backyard. The branches of the tree rested gently on the roof of the old shed where we stored the…
by Natalia Ortiz Lopez Elisa del Valle walked into town with clean brown shoes and splintered feet. She came from a region in South America whose name English speakers couldn’t spell or pronounce correctly, much to her relief. She liked that nobody could remind her of home. Leaving had meant…
by Emily Brochu By October, the crows returned. They always did. They came with the cold wind—black flocks swirling above the cul-de-sac like storm clouds too dark for the sky to bear. The air grew heavy when they came, thick with the scent of wet earth and smoke. They clung…
by Ivan de Monbrison The mountain is split in two. On the other side, there’s a path. It winds between the hills. At the end of the path, there’s a burnt-out cross. The sun has been nailed to the sky. Your hand is bleeding from your nails, but you’re not…
by Richard Downing “Too creepy for me, Shipley . . . I’m gone.” Once again, Shipley’s face had become a silent movie, a spliced choreography of twists, twitches, and tics, eyes, nose, and mouth unstuck actors blinking, pinching, and pursing from frame to frame. And his face would stay that way until he could summon that one exhaustive snort from an unpinched nose that offered release. His eyelids would then slow, modulate, his nose cease flaring and pinching, flaring and pinching, his grimace-lined lips smooth then part…
by Raymond Brunell Leah placed the plastic divider after the cereal boxes. The customer’s hand followed, setting down milk, bread, and chicken thighs in foam and cellophane. Tuesday afternoon, register three, the fluorescents making everyone look sick. She scanned the cereal. The beep felt wrong in her wrist. For a second she…
by Te’Mera Bell There are times when I still set the table for two. Perhaps it’s because of habit, or maybe it’s because of false hope. The mornings come with a heaviness that settles within me. It’s dark, and bleak. There is no sunshine, there is no true rest, there just is. Grief is there, holding on to the vows we used to…
by Erin Harer On good days, we dance. We sing Grace’s favorite songs while I cook a real dinner, with no boxes or frozen things, making our tiny redwood cabin smell like a home. We laugh at stupid jokes and let time pass without me having to force a smile or…