FICTION
Minefield by Alison Gibbs
They called the children night commuters. You used to find this strange, writing fundraising copy at your desk in Sydney, trying to squeeze emotion from dry UN reports. For you, the term conjured up Dickensian images of children going…
Sleeping Arrangements by Alice Ashe
Keep. Keep? I said keep. Sure, all right. These too. Keep? Keep. Okay. And—keep. There’s still nothing in the donate pile. Keep it. Anyway some of this stuff we might use later. Hon. We might. Well. Sure. But someone else probably needs…
Two Old Friends and a Ghost Walk into the Woods by Anna Vangala Jones
We’d agreed to never come back to this place yet here we are. The wind whispers through the trees and unsettles our hair, trying to remind us to leave. Why would we return to these woods? “I don’t care…
23 Images in Your Gallery of Absent Things by Angela Kubinec
1. Fallen leaves are a quiet palette of cut glass; they are a funeral in the church of nature. They make you think of pastry, damp strata from an earlier rainfall, or spirit-shadows looping into the distance. You want…
Grandfather2 by Greg Hrbek
Current Life Situation: Lucrative Work-Assignment, Stable Marriage-Union, Model Son. After daily work-duty, take Municipal Transporter to Metro-Sector T—Genome Modification Center—and receive Target Sequence Update. Then hurry home. Find Model Son (name Theo) at study-station, solving math problem concerning volume…
The Confidante by Mehdi M. Kashani
By the time Hamid learns they’ll have a guest, it’s a done deal. Kathy has this habit of inviting people over for beer on a whim, but having someone—a man, no less—stay for a whole week without consulting him?…
Settle and Slake by Mikki Aronoff
We strive to slide and glide but list from side to side, bob up, bob down, settle for a sec or a minute. We shake our balding heads in minute arcs, lest we fall and fracture. We slake worries,…
Ishi Agụ (Leaking Tigritude) by Kasimma
A Tiger does not proclaim its tigritude. It pounces. —Wole Soyinka When sleep accepts one week, it becomes death. My father’s earthly cloth, as per tradition, must wait in his hut until the fourth day before he is confirmed…
My Sister’s Life as a Series of Rooms by Nora Nadjarian
Room 1 Which is pink or maybe sugar-white, and a cot and little fists stick out of a blanket and peachy cheeks and my mum bent over. The room is always quiet and milky and her little nails scratch…
Horse Mother by Franz Jørgen Neumann
“My stepdaughter is a horse.” The school psychologist waits for me to say more, then resumes her review of the pedagogical strategies she and Lilja’s teachers have employed. She speaks at a clip that makes me wonder if her…