FICTION
It’s Time to Push by Lori Sambol Brody
It’s Time to Push and the next contraction bears down on her. Nora tries to breathe like she was taught during birthing classes, but the pain separates her into jagged pieces. She’s only her tight swollen stomach. The nurse…
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Forest Elegy by Despy Boutris
I wasn’t the one who started the fire. I was there, though, in the forest after dark, my unclothed skin sheened with sweat. It was summer. All of us smoking, laughing, drunk on our sudden freedom—no exams, no rules,…
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The Vibe Tonight by Kim Magowan
Louisa and I are drinking wine while my husband Carl, who is the cook (I used to think I could cook but that’s before I met Carl, who is a much better cook, picky about his food and opinionated…
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At the Center by Chelsea Sutton
When the sun sets, the whole neighborhood glows red and I taste blood around my teeth. Maybe I’m not flossing enough. I can’t afford to go to the dentist; I can’t pay someone else to clean up my mess.…
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Happy Birthday, Dad by Tammy Zhu
The electronic beat pulses through my veins like a drug, and I shimmy toward the man. He takes my hand in his soft warm palm and pulls me close. “Guapa,” he whispers in my ear, his breath steamy. His…
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The Angel Finger by K.C. Mead-Brewer
Most nights, Morgan lies awake thinking about cutting off her sister’s finger. The extra one on Angela’s left hand, the one she calls her angel finger. It could be said these thoughts make Morgan a bad person. Sinning in…
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House, in Order by J. Anne DeStaic
“Good bones”, the agent says. “These old houses. See?” We see how the jacaranda haloes purple all around, how tulips cry like tears from out the soil but upside down. We see how the river at the garden’s edge…
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Body Language by Tian Yi
My mother has become a shadow. I wake to find her leaning over me, a dark blur, the edges of her just visible in the thin morning light that filters into the tent. It feels early, but I can…
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Ariel by Jinwoo Chong
At nine years old you pin him to the soil, knees around ribs, center your two fingers together between his eyes and shout bang, bang, you’re dead, you’re fucking dead. He is writhing, trying to escape you; your sounds…
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Yo Te Veo by Rachel Pollon
It’s hard to make out what language they’re speaking. At first glance I think they might be Italian. But as I eavesdrop further, take them in from behind my hopefully opaque-enough sunglasses, I realize I’m mistaken. None of the…
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