SHORT STORIES
From Rubble
by Rebecca Pyle
I hate pale blue flowered prints; I hate elaborate handbags; I hate dresses worn once and shoes which hurt the feet. I do like to hear stories read, or poetry: I like to hear people admitting things, painful, wishful, or glorious or doomed.
heirloom tomatoes
by jamilla vandyke-bailey
Mama?
Yes, Ava?
C-can we talk?
Ain’t that what we doing now?
Yes, but Mama. I mean talk talk.
Candy Hearts
by Nadia Djamila
“The Agency’s had a big month. We’ve purchased the condo next door, and the one across the hall, and actually almost all of the units on this floor.”
Noor, slicing cheese and fruit, paused.
“I didn’t know the O’Malley’s were selling.”
“They weren’t,” Isla said, flashing her one-hundred-percent veneer smile. “But our offer was absurd. They couldn’t say no.”
Careless People
by Emily Zasada
But now here I was, and there was the ocean, a matter of a few feet away, and I was being forced to admit that at least some of the things I’d secretly believed were lies were actually true. Every time a wave hit one of the windows, I tried not to scream.
Closeter
by Emma Moore
“I don’t think I am, like, this ‘battered’ and ‘abused’ woman.” I used air quotes very liberally. “Because it was just something that happened when we were having an argument. Like, it wasn’t consistent, you know?”
“Sure, it wasn’t consistent, but he did try to kill you.”
Baby Steps
by Erin Brookins
Walks become a sanctuary and Leah is always desecrating them.
We need to talk, she says. About things.
Moving Targets
by Will Marsh
“Used to be houses,” he says.
“Well, glad I’m here to help,” I say.
He draws back. “This isn’t reality TV.”
The Road to the Studio
by Natalie Lemle
Not that it matters to Felix, but Per isn’t interested in talking about his work. It’s too dreamlike. He’d been going for the feeling of a fugue state, chaos glinting with beauty, not beauty itself.
Gone to the Beach
by Max Blue
What are they looking at, Amy and this man, in which they see rain? The clouds? Cloud patterns?
Only the Moon Comes Back
by Elizabeth Erbeznik
This wasn’t so much a story as a warning. Some things are supposed to end.
Second Helping of Grits
by Julia Mallory
She loved the way he held his mouth. Like his teeth were meant to balance the weight of his jaws. All his features moved in unison.
Out Here Where Things Make Sense
by Alex Goetz
My headphones had broken at some point between the end of my flight and when I arrived at the intercity shuttle stop. I realized this a few minutes after the trip had begun, and it became clear that I would have to engage with this experience in a way I hadn’t been prepared for.