TRAIL OF SMALL CLOWNS by Caleb Bethea
March 27, 2024
I heard my liver slapping onto the tile floor. My pancreas half falling out of me, hanging all the way down into the sink with my old skin.
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THE TEACHER by Melissa Benton Barker
March 25, 2024
The teacher hated the children. Ashley with her electric fence and Michelle with her little doll and Daniel with his frog.
THE CABIN by Meg Favreau
March 18, 2024
But today there was a cabin. A small, rough thing. Caked in leaves. Inside, they found old cans and an old bed and an old table. Inside, they found a calendar stuck on July 1992.
QUESTIONS FOR THE ALIEN WHO LISTENED TO THE VOYAGER GOLDEN RECORD by John Waddy Bullion
March 11, 2024
In your mind, is there nothing better than coming home after a punishing day in the asteroid mines, firing up a space joint, and taking a blissful sound bath in the pure vibes pouring forth from your carefully curated LP collection?
WOULD BE A SHAME by Mary Dittrich Orth
March 4, 2024
…we never even noticed a voyeur, Shana—a girl new to the school, friendless and odd—hiding behind the monkey bars, spying…
I JUST WANT PALS TO JOSH AROUND WITH by Kevin Richard White
February 21, 2024
Maybe we discuss how soft our wives’ hands are, how they look in the shower, how they may or may not love us.
THE ENTIRE LAME HISTORY OF THE CHICAGO SHINERS by Sam Berman
February 14, 2024
God shares my taller daughter’s name now. Which is Hope. I say it five times when she covers the inbound. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope.
SELENA GOMEZ WALKS INTO A MULTI-DIMENSIONAL PORTAL AT THE REST STOP IN DUBLIN, GA by Stephen Meisel
February 7, 2024
And says a warrior’s prayer as the mahogany bear carvings come alive. She understands the will of the Valkyrie as the will of the H bomb.
JOHN LEAVES HIS HOME by Alex Juffer
January 24, 2024
John tracked their interactions and gauged the hierarchy. A redhead with no shirt and a flashbang sunburn ordered the youngest ones around. They worked in shifts now.
BLADE OF GRASS by Mason Koa
January 10, 2024
Almost breathlessly, he raved to me that he had done it: He had separated himself from nature once and for all. I pointed out that we ate from nature before a light flickered in his eyes and I cupped my hand over my mouth.