by James HartmanThe park is close to the chaos of Michigan’s largest shopping outlets, and I guess I chose this park for its proximity to this chaos.
by Tommy DeanEven CNN was reporting the end of the world. There were rules, and we were about to break them.
by Cathy UlrichHer baby will be born fire; her baby will burn. She feels it, feverish during the pregnancy, exhaling smoke from her mouth.
The thin edge of the paper slices the tip of my finger, but I continue so that blood paints a hole where an eye might have been.
by Peter CowlamMinions in a free press, let loose with a vision, wash tides of stucco from their blades as work ends on a coastal tower.
by Amye ArcherIt is dark. The summer is ending, but we can still taste her on our tongues. Twenty beers between us has made you hungry for me.
by Peter J. StavrosIt’s that thing that wakes you at three in the morning, with a gasp and a startle.
by T.E. CowellOnce you start making shopping lists it all goes downhill from there.
by Hamdy ElgammalThe boy and the girl sat on the edge of the highway, their backs against a wall fifty miles out of Sacramento.
by Jackleen Holton HookwayThe temperature in the Central Valley had dropped to a record low. I scraped the frost off the windshield before I drove myself to the hospital.
by Nina KotyantzMorris Brandson in his beige raincoat—the one he inherited from Arthur Miller’s Willy—trots along the damp grounds of his forsaken city, fighting the ruthless blows of the raindrops in the wind.
Leesa’s stories invite the reader to the table, pour them a couple fingers of something good, and leave them reeling.
by Jane-Rebecca CannarellaI try to pierce apple flesh with my incisors but always avoid using my tree stump molars.
by Levi Andrew NoeThe clouds stand poised above us like sumo wrestlers in leotards, bursting at the seams. I chuckle to myself and you ask why, but I can’t just say, “Because leotard is a funny word.”