THE SHOPLIFTERS • by Nicole Sellew
I wonder if having a guy cum in you once — just a little bit — really makes a baby. I would never get an abortion either way, since I was raised Catholic, but Plan B is kind of a… Continue Reading
Stories
RENATO (45 STEPS) • by Annie B. Shapero
Renato would have followed me a thousand miles back to my apartment. At least that’s how it felt in the beginning. The truth is that there were only 45 steps between my apartment and the wine bar around the corner… Continue Reading
A MAN’S DOG • by Dan Keeble
Tom saw the smirk approaching. There was no way to avoid it. Worse still, it was spread across the face of Conor. If ever a snigger or sneer needed removing with the back of a hand, it would belong to… Continue Reading
THE TEACHER’S TINY TERROR • by Alyson Tait
Dark green yarn. Black button eyes. Stiffly-starched wings. The amigurumi Cthulhu sat on the edge of my desk, watching over my classroom. Its eyes peered into the void of a thousand teenage souls — the dreadful thing had been with… Continue Reading
WHEN WILL IT END? • by James Hannan
As I walk the boundary of my property after dusk, I don’t trust my eyes. I’m trying to make sense of various shapes around me. Shadows lurking behind trees are like people hiding from me. Bushes, jutting out from the… Continue Reading
THE CALIBER OF HOPE • by Michael Pikna
I work a mixture of peat and shredded leaves into the hole, then arrange the bulbs pointy end up before blanketing them with a few inches of dirt. Planting crocuses is supposed to keep me from offing myself in the… Continue Reading
IMPERFECTION • by Rosanne Dingli
Did I tell you about the geranium I grew from a cutting? I stole it from someone’s front garden as I raced for a bus one day. This huge unruly bush — which someone should have pruned — spilled over… Continue Reading
PAST REMAINS • by John Paul Rousseau
Breath by breath, step by step, he wills his body toward the darkening skyline. Tired legs, weak legs, legs wet from trudging through the snow come to a gradual rest. Pine trees flitter in the wind, a biting wind that… Continue Reading
TIE A RIBBON ON THE FAIRY TREE • by Rebecca Birch
If I ignore the door hanging half off its hinges and the swallow’s nest surveying the dust from beneath the exposed center beam, Nana’s cottage is little changed from fifteen years ago, when Dad left me here to “find my… Continue Reading
GREEN BEANS • by Dawn Muenchrath
I found it on the counter by the microwave, under a stack of yellowing envelopes. It was sticking to the bottom of the pile and I would have missed it altogether when I picked them up had it not leapt… Continue Reading