Archives

AN ELEGY FOR COACH by Ravi Mangla

August 12, 2024

We shook on it. If we won the final game of the season, Coach would run fifty laps around the gym. Some time around the eighth lap he collapsed and died. Some of us cried. Others stood in monastic silence. McClusky threw up in the Gatorade cooler. Coach’s death was relayed on the morning announcements after news that the cafeteria was out of waffle fries. This was not, we believed, the memorial Coach would have wanted. He loved waffle fries. We felt an obligation then, a hefty responsibility, to give Coach the send-off he would have wanted. After all, Coach

A HOLE TO DIE IN by Sarah Butler

August 7, 2024

The Yucca Valley had plenty of pool cleaners, but none as good as him. Jeb started cleaning pools because he didn’t want to sell meth like his cousins Rob, Kyle, Tyler, and Clay. He liked the roteness of skimming the surface of the water with his net, the reading of pH strips, and the satisfaction of a job well done. He’d cleaned some of the most beautiful pools in the desert – he even did the one at Sinatra’s house once. But what he really wanted to do was own a vintage cowboy boot store. He was born and raised

TRANSMISSIONS: Writing The Rapids

August 6, 2024

Welcome to Transmissions, an interview feature in which X-R-A-Y profiles podcasts. Joe bielecki is the host of the podcast Writing the Rapids, the author of the novel Tired from Alien Buddha Press, as well as several pieces of flash fiction that may or may not still be on the internet. He currently lives with his family in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Writing the Rapids can be found at the website, Spotify, Patreon, Instagram, Youtube and X. Rebecca Gransden: How would you describe the podcast to someone who is unfamiliar with what you do? Joe bielecki: Writing the Rapids is a podcast where

FRUIT AND FRACTIONS by Taleen V.

August 5, 2024

On the table apricots blush, sliced to their stony seeds. A faded bowl of walnut brains sits untouched and long wet spears of cucumber sweat beside them. Goods grown right here in Fresno, just like you. The professor picks you up by the waist and sets you next to the spread. His beard is silver spangled and his brows touch. He resembles your uncle Varouj who plays the piano at Christmastime, except this man doesn’t smile as much. Until his grab, it had not crossed your mind to be afraid. “You can always trust Armenians, they’re family,” your mom once

VISIONS: A Beautiful Poisoned Addiction by SDL, with words by Adedapo Adeniyi

August 4, 2024

VISIONS: SAMO: The Poetic Recital by SDL

August 3, 2024

Temidayo ‘SDL’ Arise, preferably referred to mononymously as SDL, is a dynamic visual artist currently based in the city of Ilorin, Nigeria. He’s known for his captivating artworks with thought-provoking concepts and a diverse range of themes, each piece telling a unique story. With his keen eye for detail and his passion for creative expression, SDL’s work captures human emotions fused with the mysteries of existence. His portfolio reflects his evolution as an artist, as a human, showcasing his dedication to his craft and the raw energy he puts into each artwork.

BUD SMITH by Z.H. Gill

August 2, 2024

My brother Max told me about Bud Smith. The writer, not the baseball player, the one who’d pitched a no-hitter in his rookie year for the St. Louis Cards. For a brief time, I thought he was the baseball player, who’d pitched a no-hitter in his rookie year—on 9/3/01, eight days before fair Seth MacFarlane missed his plane at solemn Boston Logan—for the St. Louis Cards. But he was not him. Who else was he not? Bud Smith was not Indiana Jones*. He was not Jerry Springer, Bud Smith. He was not Josh Hartnett, nor Josh Hartnett’s character, Captain Danny

NINE by Matthew Feasley

August 1, 2024

A week before mom’s clinic burned to the ground, my older brother Sam brought home an octopus from the Greek grocery where he worked. After his shift, he had set the octopus on one of the shiny tables in the back and studied it beneath a wash of fluorescent lights. He looked at its hollow head, its body, and its missing eyes. Everything seemed ‘normal’ until he noticed its arms. Sam counted them again and again to be sure. Then he threaded the animal carefully into his backpack and hobbled out of the store to catch his bus. At home

LOOK FOR A WHILE by Lamb

July 31, 2024

LILING, 66 It is not wise to swim so soon after a meal, I know, but I have never experienced anything quite like the sensation of floating in a swimming pool with a full belly, which is—and I didn’t realize this until I lay here pushing my pale legs down into the water, watching them spring back up like ice—in essence, just another pool containing smaller bits of floating flesh. And all this occurring on the deck of a cruise ship floating in the Pacific, Earth’s largest body of water? Well. I may go again tomorrow after lunch. DAN, 37

TRANSMISSIONS: Art of Darkness

July 30, 2024

Welcome to Transmissions, an interview feature in which X-R-A-Y profiles podcasts. Brad Kelly is a writer from Detroit, Michigan. In addition to AoD, he has recently published HOUSE OF SLEEP, a work of literary psy-fi, and is currently developing a novel to be released in 2024 and an experimental text investigating the Tarot card-by-card. He is a former Michener Fellow and has been widely published in literary magazines. Kevin Kautzman is a playwright living in St. Paul, Minnesota. His award-winning plays have appeared around the UK and US and are available in print at Broadway Play Publishing. His dark social media