Fiction
Fiction
What I Can No Longer See
“I’m thankful I’m not a horse,” Marla says, as she reaches for the saltine sleeve inside her tote bag.
Amy Lerman
Poetry
Skirt
I. I see a video of women cycling in short dresses talking of how not to flash. They wide-angled their legs, pull the back of
Rochelle Potkar
Short Story
The Code
Carl didn’t know the code. The timer was ticking, the bomb was going to blow, but he had no idea how to shut the thing
Daniel Scott White
Poetry
Auto-crimes
She cornered herself against the shoulders of two meeting walls and wrote her screams into the plaster. The sun was a blade against her skin
Valentina Cano
Short Story
Lichtenberg Figures
The skin is the largest organ of the human body. It insulates and protects. It contains all we are. Fluids, muscles, tissues and bones, shuddering
Jonathan Green
