editorial by Camille Gooderham Campbell From the Editors It’s hard to believe that we’re already into August — the final month of our fifth year of publication! Back in 2007, I don’t think Jordan Ellinger or Steven Smethurst or I… Continue Reading
Crows picked through the trash when Cosgrove hunched toward the Dumpsters behind China Terrace. Snow covered the mounded trash bags, though one bag was torn on the ground, debris strewn down the alley in a careless trail which fed the… Continue Reading
Docking at the space station, Dex Branson momentarily forgot about the two-ton shark in the science bay. He was dreaming about cosmonaut Martina Voluskova, “with whom I shall soon rendezvous,” he chortled, eyeing his case of smuggled vodka. Later, with… Continue Reading
Listen to “Why Do They Lie to Me” by Rohini Gupta, read by Folly Blaine: [display_podcast] Rohini Gupta is a writer who lives by the sea in Mumbai, India. She has published nonfiction and poetry books and is now writing… Continue Reading
It was the purple I noticed first. She was dressed in great swathes of the stuff. As she swept in and out of the gravestones her enormous purple cloak fanned out behind her. It reminded me of a book I… Continue Reading
I. Like. Guys that smoke. I like it when they put that death cylinder between their fingers and just… breathe. I like guys who laugh in the faces of people who say, “Two out of three smokers die.” So one… Continue Reading
I feel so heavy as they lift me up; men I have never met with their hands under my arms, around my thighs. The bus has moved on and I think I’m finally safe, lying by the sidewalk on dried… Continue Reading
Gertrude froze, the morning dew soaking through her thin-soled slippers. Half-eaten pink petals littered her lawn. A full swath of her prize tulips had been chewed down to nubby stalks — the rest looked intact, for now. She could only… Continue Reading
Jake was seven before he believed in rainbows. After a storm, his mother would sometimes lead him to the porch and point a long finger at the sky. “Look at the colors,” she would say. “Aren’t they beautiful?” And he… Continue Reading
Detective Collins straightened his jacket before entering the residence. He’d pulled Maple Hill’s first homicide in years and wasn’t about to walk in looking like a slob. He took one more swipe at his hair and stepped inside. “What have… Continue Reading