My sister who is not my real sister is the first to understand that the spirit, who has disappeared, was a trickster. My sister is melting from scalp to toes. I tell my sister: everything will be ok. We are symbolically in tune.… more
Tag Archives: Flash
Child Zombie
FICTION by Maliha MannanHow does one become a zombie? Hmm. All of us have unique stories, but one way or another, we end up losing our homes and possessions, so we take to the streets. Street life is hard. Some zombies get better, their situations reverse, but most of us keep getting worse. Our memories fade, speech gets slurred. It’s a common story, really. There are more of us around than you think.… more
DNR
FICTION by Michael Hammerle“Like death, the violence was just where the thing ended,” Grandma said. “Your grandpa loved the training, the starving, the heat, the cold, the purpose. I know his least favorite part was the violence.”… more
Two Micros
FICTION by KossStripe-tailed with downy head plumage, amphibian up to ankles—truncated by Reorganized Latter Day Saint knicker flannel, she claw-writes ambidextrous each time the thunder comes. They published her without knowledge—just the way she prefers.… more
Art’s Wife
FICTION by Ken RodgersHis eyes blinked like a machine gun’s stutter. He swirled his Chivas and mumbled something—I couldn’t hear it well over the racket of wild fucking in the bedroom. Maybe he said, “Mother would never have written that.”… more
Arm-Cami
FICTION by Lukas TallentI worried she had fallen asleep, then wondered why exactly our relationship had never been sexual, why I had started to think of everyone in these terms.… more
Quick Math
FICTION by Paul RousseauDarrell stared at the room placard just below the peephole until his sight went out of focus. He made the numbers 404 transform, they shuffled and stretched, elastic, until they spelled out their true meaning as Darrell saw them. A warning: Death O’Death.… more
Boxelder Bugs
CREATIVE NONFICTION by Jen IppensenBoxelder bugs swarmed the cinder block wall at our back while we waited for our ride. A few fluttered, struggling to stay aloft in the thick air, their orange-red wing veins flashing. I cupped my hands, gently caught one. … more
