Fiction

Short Story
One
I can feel the evening sun, warm on my face, but the chill of the wind coaxes me to pull my coat tighter around me.
Debi Crouson

Fiction
This is What You Do
I stood in my kitchen, hands slightly palsied as I poured myself a glass of water from the sink.
Warren P. Genesis

Short Story
The Solution
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
Black Shrunken Blemish
When Frances had to speak publicly, her legs shook. As a kid, she had grown faster up than she had out and she had felt
Kyra Baldwin

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

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