by David Plimpton It was only about ten inches square, the little blue painting, an oil or an acrylic or some combination, with perhaps a medium added to give it … Continue Reading The Little Blue Painting
by Kate Rose My mom is coming. I haven’t seen her in, like, my whole life. Literally. Crazy, huh? She gave birth to me, then she was gone. I’m pretty … Continue Reading How Being Born in Jail Saved My Life
by Fred Cheney From the window of the barnloft, the girl watched him hunt in the big field each morning. Watched, as he succeeded at once and went home early. … Continue Reading Waiting
by Craig Bradley Bill Jensen slammed the brakes of his Prius and clenched his jaw. Through narrowed eyes he saw the bear flinch at the screeching car, then swiftly scramble … Continue Reading The Biggest Bear in Greene County
by Rekha Valliappan ‘Patterns must be mapped.’ –Fritjof Capra Sitting on the green luna’s papery wings I can feel the crimp, the itch, what it would be like to creep into … Continue Reading Textured Tessellations
By Stephen Ground Phil was dying. He called Sunday morning, when he knew he’d wake me, catch me sleeping, so I couldn’t lie about doing something else. Said to come … Continue Reading Bodhi
By Coffee and Horror Contest Second Place Winner, Aislinn Forbes It smelled like coffee. Like my mother on late Sunday mornings and college cafes. Like comfort. Which didn’t make any … Continue Reading Burnt
By Michael Sutton The alarm screams but I’m already awake. I lie quiet in the tangled sheets, the aftermath of another sleepless night. My feet trace their routine course to … Continue Reading Broken
By J L Higgs The screen door slammed, shaking the whole house. Dad was breathing fire. He’d been out front planting rose bushes. Now dirt was strewn on Mom’s freshly … Continue Reading M’s Awakening
By Katrina Johnston In right field, shallow, lonely, melting in the sun, Sarah Jackson struggles to keep her head in the game. She monitors each pitch and strains to hear … Continue Reading Throw Away the Key
By Eileen Herbert-Goodall Perched on the edge of the highway, we sit in the car, the hum of the engine grinding at the silence. Outside, trees sway, their limbs bent … Continue Reading Unlucky
by Kyra Wiens The sun was just now rising over the savannah and the tracker had found a trail. Her husband was amped up, leaning forward in his seat and … Continue Reading In South Africa, a Prayer for My Marriage
Some day. It’s what we all want really, to believe that that kind of love is more than a campfire story. Sometimes, we want to believe in ghosts.
How much fish can a river hold? How many could it expel? With their dull gray pallor, frozen unseeing eyes and shredded spider web fins, they covered the entire shoreline. It was impossible to set down a foot without crushing innards that squirted out a putrid odor of death.
“It was my last trip of that summer that I recall most vividly. I locked my bike to the sidewalk side of a guard rail on Route 126. After a ten-minute hike through the woods, I arrived at the site of Thoreau’s cabin, where I paid my homage and meditated for a while in silent reverence.”
“He had to be 70 if he was a day, but then I learned long ago that older Southern people often hide their aging, or have already aged beyond their years. Somewhere in there.”