by Sarah Toney (This story contains suicide.) The air was thin and icy. Breathing it in felt like swallowing shattered glass. The city was beautiful from this height and the boy wanted to reach out and feel the warmth of the setting sun. The heaviness in his chest felt a…
by Gil Hoy Their homes, cone-shaped wooden poles covered with buffalo hides. Set up to break down quickly to move to a safer place. She sits inside of one of them, adorning her dresses, her family’s shirts, with beads and quills. Watches over her children, skins cuts and cooks the…
by Michael C. Keith If you were color blind, you’d be a better person. Robert Smith It seemed to me that we’d been standing on the blazing stretch of Route 1 south of Savannah half of my 12 years on the planet. “My legs are getting rubbery from being here…