ANOTHER CUSTOMER by Sascha Belle Nastasi
Her sandwich – mine now – is sloppily assembled, the melted cheddar thick with oil like a handsome man’s mucus. I eat without chewing much.
I AM MARKED SAFE by Ian Crutcher Castillo
A year and three months ago a stray bullet caught Mina in the face, just grazing it. She has a scar that trails down her left eye, back to her left ear. The scar looks like one tear crying. Sometimes, lightning strikes twice.
THE LIST by Annie Delmedico
In movies, the end of the world makes everyone care about the right things, right when the right things are about to be gone. Not me. I want my money.
GRAPE, APRICOT, BOTTLE CAP, BONE by Jennifer Murvin
Susan who choked to death loved the husband, loved his neighborliness. She loved him from her driveway and windows, front and back yards, day and night dreams.
MAY 24 by Parker Young
In order to write, I needed the writing process to disappear. But without the writing process, obviously I wouldn’t be a writer.
CAN’T YOU SEE YOU’RE THE HERO HERE? by Jeffrey Hermann
My presentation at the co-working space was a smash, meaning afterward people smashed the windows with rocks.
WEIRD ENOUGH TO BE DANGEROUS by MJ McGinn
My 7th grade English teacher was just three toddlers stacked on top of each other. The middle toddler googled every question we asked on an iPhone. You could see it through his shirt, star-bright.
LOVE LETTER by Nick Plett
The world felt like something awful impending. June gloom had set in early; Mercury was back in retrograde. Everyone was jittery, uncertain, a little gun shy.
RAINBOWS by Tim Frank
A rainbow is feeling down, suicidal even. It takes some pills and a bottle of gin to a park, ready to end it all.
A PORTRAIT OF JOHN WAYNE’S COLLARBONE, SELMA BRAUN, 1992 by Will VanDenBerg
It's 5:34 am and John Wayne is singing to his horse. The shoot is behind schedule; they've gone all night. Wayne's singing voice will be dubbed over.