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 Christy Bailes I fell through the mirror into a basket of rubber arms, as if lovers had become repeated doll limbs, reaching for me at every angle. I twisted my body to catch one, then another, but their fingers bent to forearms in darkness that stretched so loud, I…
by Michael C. Keith There is something about poverty that smells like death. Dead dreams dropping off the heart like leaves in the dry season and rotting around the feet. …
By Michael C. Keith Television can have dire effects on the young mind. – George Gerbner In 1954, me and my best friend, Carlos Munoz, would go down to Bailey’s Appliance Store on Foster Street and stand in front of its display window and watch television. My dad said they…
by Hemant Nayak Victor P. Bladishenko loved the sound of crickets, their shiny carapaces snapping between his thick fingers. He thrilled at the crack and pop. He smirked as their legs twitched when separated from unfortunate heads. Victor flicked the still moving parts to Anatoly, his Siamese, who snapped them…
by Michael C. Keith Be a good animal, true to your animal instincts. – D.H. Lawrence The white tail buck moves its snout a millimeter beyond the oily grass line and is assailed by a torrent of unfamiliar scents. “My mother will love those cloth napkins. She’d have everything…
by Devon Marsh This is the kind of fire that will go completely to ash. No remnants of oak left in the morning when I sip coffee, rest my hand on warm bricks, and our eyes share a smile acknowledging how flames moved together and made sounds.
by Matthew Schmitt She would not let him see her cry. Not today. Her pain was a bucking bronco, which she knew she had to break. She had been thrown more times than she could admit, but something about the strength of it, the sheer might which rippled its muscles,…
by Autumn Carter How many coffee shop clichés does it take to understand the delicious power of bitter liquid energy going cold in front of a myriad of caffeine enthusiasts? In the center of the air-blasted room, at the tallest, wobbly table, in an obvious sea of crop tops and…