Short

WORK FROM HOME by Jenn Salcido

June 10, 2024

It’s not looking good for us, Jeremy thinks, as he opens the fridge and peers inside. A small, desiccated head of broccoli, provenance unknown, stinks up the whole place like farts. A pickle jar sits inert, nary a pickle floating inside. A sprig of grapes wilts on its vine. Jeremy shuts the door. “We don’t have any food,” he calls out to Dog, the dog. Dog barks. Jeremy makes a motion with his hands like what is he supposed to do about this, moves to the living room, and commences with his morning fretting routine. First, he backs his body

A FINAL AND PERSONAL PRINCIPLE by Sean Cavanaugh

June 6, 2024

Connor’s room had big windows and blinds with strings that touched the floor, and which were always drifting unevenly, a little to the left or to the right, halfway up or basically closed, but always open slightly because of an interceding object or a crease in the PVC, so the sunlight was partial and unfulfilled. There were a few old trophies on his dresser and a fishbowl, forever bubbling, with two statuettes and a little red beta. In front of the bed was a large TV, and to the side was a small leather couch where he’d sit with his

THE RELATIVELY BEAUTIFUL AND THE DAMNED by J.S. Nunn

April 11, 2024

I’ve found that hobbies are a great way to distract yourself from the fact that it’s too late to realize your potential.

WHAT TO DO WHEN THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO DO by John King

March 14, 2024

I’ve just vomited into my mother’s coffin. The pallbearers rush me out of the parlor. The funeral home director eyes me fiercely. He isn’t wrong.

THE INHERITENCE / LA HERENCIA by Sam Moe

February 28, 2024

I think we’re all stuck to the Manhattan apartment, its thick coatings of paint intertwined with our veins, which crisscross around the city, glowing in the night, fraying when we argue.

VIRGIN SUNNING ON ARTIFICIAL ROCK by Kate Busatto

January 31, 2024

But before I can swallow, I must disarm her. Rob her of agency and hope. Break the faith that brought her to the enclosure.

ELAINE by LJ Pemberton

November 22, 2023

The more of Elaine he had had, the less it felt like she belonged to him at all. Besides, he said, I have learned that even possession is a kind of disappointment.

PORCELAIN by Nicholas Claro

September 27, 2023

The couch is more of a loveseat. It hardly seats the two of us. On it is the pillow and blanket I’ve been using. This is the longest conversation we’ve had in over a week.

HOBBIES by Robbie Herbst

August 30, 2023

She’d say that it’s not enough for a man to create a life; he must sustain it. Protect it. Sufficiency means safety. It means contingencies. It means insurance.

COMPANY MAN by Jeff Karr

August 23, 2023

The lord’s light is a fathomless null. Sometimes you’re afforded a glimpse and it’s a tunnel on the other side of which you crawl on the accordioned car’s ceiling.