By Emily Fox It was the summer of the jumpers. From every height they were falling: from rooftops, from bridges, from sharp cliffs onto vicious rock clusters that waited below with greedy crevices. Perhaps it was the heat that drove people to want to fly. The air was heavy with…
by Laura Senff Inspiration approaches in many forms A ray of sunshine or a sliver of moonlight Watching campfire flames ignite The wind blowing in the trees or waves hitting the shore Or even watching winged beasts soar Inspiration in sundry situations transforms Maybe it is a speech on television…
by Ashley O’Melia I squinted against the rain as I ran from the car to the old house. Thunder scraped across the clouds, hurrying me along. I fumbled with the key box on the front door, punching in the code my boss had given me. The code was easy to…
by G. K. Nickless Where do dreams go to die? From my place at the dining room table overlooking the back yard, I can see tips of multiple, wet, warped and abandoned stakes protruding from the snow, scattered at intervals four feet wide by eight, twelve, fourteen, or sixteen feet…
by Raj Davis The clanging of bottles and glasses sound like the perfect symphony. Is there any better way to spend the evening than sipping on a Budweiser, crunching on cashews, while hearing the collective chatter of dozens of cops on a night after a long shift? Bill doubts there…
by Tracey Loscar The air remains heavy and hot, despite the fact that the sun has long since disappeared. Summer nights in the south aren’t so much a cooling off as a kicking off of the heavier blanket, where the sheet gets left on, keeping some of the air trapped….
by Amelia Mason Found Poem taken from #YesAllWomen tweets – (Trigger warning: Deals with themes of assault and rape) Victim Gets Revenge on Rapist by Setting Him on Fire. Well, he was sorta asking for it, dressing in such flammable clothing. 1 in 5 women experience rape or assault….
by Daniel Charles Ross Traffic sucked. Traffic always sucks, of course. The worst form of standing in line is in traffic. My little town, a suburb of another already small town, had found a chunk of federal road budget they had to spend or lose it, so they tore up…
by Christy Bailes Silky froth seeps through the window cracks and battles with a 1950s cast-iron radiator heater. The smell of vanilla frosting wakes Anne from two-hour’s worth of slumber. Still dressed with last night’s clothes, she sits up in bed. Vodka and pill bottles tumble off her legs and…
by Margaret McNellis Rose’s elbows trembled. A drop of sweat splashed onto the red jigsaw mat beneath her face. She scrunched her eyes shut and tried to remember to breathe. She tried to remember that this was what she wanted. She tried to remember that she signed up for this,…