Fiction

I stood in my kitchen, hands slightly palsied as I poured myself a glass of water from the sink.

Warren P. Genesis

Poetry

The first art Was not art, Rather, a color line shot through the dark, No more expression Than a plea for explanation. The grandest monuments

Lucy Holden

Short Story

I talk to myself. I have to. No one else will listen. No one else understands. Even if they did, I wouldn’t dare expose

Kuo

Short Story

You tell her you love her the day she graduates. It’s a carefree spring morning, the perfect kind for the endurance training you sometimes did—

Natalie Wee

Fiction

Have you ever met someone who makes you question everything you’ve ever wanted?

Kelly Dasta

Fiction

My first real breath of air smells of pine and woodsmoke. It comes to me on a cool breeze, mid-afternoon, a sunny day that

Emma Kath Cullen