Fiction

At first, the dreams were jagged and bewildering, like migraine lightning or a Dali canvas.

Carl Boon

Short Story

While he sleeps I catalogue his body. When he is awake I keep my distance. While he dreams I touch and map in a

A.J. Whitaker

Poetry

he swears that the desert is laughing, mocking him with the distant wail of the wind, the hoot of an owl. each spray of dry

Rachel Linton

Short Story

I pursued him with a single minded determination that had been notably lacking in my previous endeavours. I wanted Richard to be mine like I

Caitriona Murphy

Fiction

I am in denial. Two pink lines.

Jessica Vergara

Short Story

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