Fiction

Short Story

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

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

“I’m thankful I’m not a horse,” Marla says, as she reaches for the saltine sleeve inside her tote bag.

Amy Lerman

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

Poetry

Sammie Jo don’t talk much. Her mother like to cut out her tongue any time she speaks up. A bone outta socket. As big as

Robert Eric Shoemaker

Fiction

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

Carl Boon