A HAND • by Peggy Lee
A hand. That is what I remember. Its warmth on my skin. The soft skin hidden within the curve of my thigh. The place I like to fold my own hand at night. It’s cosy there. Warm. Comforting. It feels… Continue Reading
child abuse
JANEY TAKE A WALK WITH YOUR BROTHER TO THE MOON • by Adam Judge
Andrew timed it perfect: he opened the front door just at the moment Mama’s thrown picture frame hit the wall right behind Daddy. Neither of them heard him leave. He learned early to get out unnoticed when he wasn’t the… Continue Reading
THE OTHER • by Shelley K. Davenport
Carina, darling, Someday you will want to know why. People will ask you: What was I like? Was I weird? Forgetting that you were only three and cannot be expected to remember your father. I cannot write to you because… Continue Reading
CAPE TOWN, 1991 • by Rosemary Harp
(trigger warning for sexual assault involving children/minors) The ceiling is white, the walls are white, the curtains are white. They swell and recede in unison like lungs. On the breeze, Mina can smell frangipani and chlorine. She is pinned to… Continue Reading
I COULD SEE THE FARTHEST THINGS • by Parker Desautell
I had my first mystical experience when I was seven. I was at my grandfather’s. We were on the sofa together watching cartoons, when all of a sudden the screen went black. In the cartoon’s place appeared a photo of… Continue Reading
GATEWAY PUPPY • by Lia Burnham
On my twelfth birthday, a puppy drowned in our pool. On that cicada-buzzing Sunday afternoon, I lay on a half-deflated raft, my fingertips skimming the warm water. Thunderclouds pressed down, trapping stagnant, rotten-fish-smelling air. Pinhole rays of sun burst through… Continue Reading
NO SIN ON A SUNDAY • by Pauline Yates
The crack of the baseball bat against Jason’s knees incites power I’ve never felt, but I should have smashed his jaw. He drops to the floor, profanity spewing from his mouth. My grip tightens on the bat. I know what… Continue Reading
A WEB OF VICE • by Brandon Fife
Everyone is tied down to something, Nicole thought as she regarded the demon from across the greasy, downtown cafe. It was a small demon as demons go, hardly noticeable really as its needle sharp teeth sank into the crimson tendril… Continue Reading
NOTED • by Steffany Willey
Asha was my spur-of-the-moment walking buddy. She lived five houses away, and if one of us suddenly needed a break from our mom lives we’d give the other a call. Winter and summer we’d plod the two-mile loop, often grumbling… Continue Reading
THE REFRIGERATOR • by Jeff Switt
She sits naked on the floor of her hospital room, knees drawn to her chin, rocking back and forth. Her hospital gown, shredded. Fingertips, red and bleeding from stuffing bits of cloth into imaginary holes in the walls. The door… Continue Reading