After the Shooting

Andrea Marcusa
I leave the hospital, happy to be rid of the dying, past imposing grey buildings with institutional windows, neon blue, showing patient rooms and neglected, thirsty plants.

The Carnival Ride Isn’t Over

By Kristin Tenor
It’s late. We sprawl on the back porch with a couple beers, while you reminisce about that time you and an Army buddy drove his cousin’s Duster straight through the night all the way to Coney Island ...

Tell Me a Story

By Dustin Hodge
Mom drove a faded blue AMC Pacer. The fabric seats were torn, and all the vinyl had huge cracks from the Texas heat.

Der Sachsenspiegel

By Danielle Lenhard
In "Images of Rape," Diane Wolfthal describes a 13th-century practice for litigating rape. If a woman is raped in her home, who goes on trial? The person who raped her? No.

Circadian Rhythms

By Dominique Zino
They selected me because I was an experienced spelunker, placing electrodes on my temples, cheek bones, and chest to monitor my vitals underground, tracking my time waking and sleeping.


By Chuck Augello
And the vandals spray-painted the clouds with gang symbols. No, they were corporate logos, familiar brands, the symbolic faces of aggregated capital leering from the sky ...

Photo Story: Root Systems

By Dominique Zino
The afternoon before, we’d hiked. The path was mostly paved. Still, the trip was an escape from their children.


By Meg Pokrass
For the past few years their sheets remained straight when he tried to court her. When did you get that perfume? he’d say but she wasn't wearing any or maybe she was and he didn't know it.

Photo Story: The Errand

By Cheryl Snell
Before one sandal kicks off the other by the door; before the run across the busy street, cloth bags fluttering; before the break away from joggers prancing at the stop sign ...

Due Process

By Tim Craig
The young couple left the ball early to make love in the grounds of the villa. But before they had even removed their gloves, they were mauled to death by the host’s four guard dogs.

Family Drive

By Michael Czyzniejewski
My son says, “Wouldn’t it be funny if a business called itself ‘The Pumpkin Patch,’ but instead of you picking pumpkins from a field, they patch your carved pumpkins? Like, you bring in your jack-o-lantern and they put the eyes and stuff back in.”

Photo Story: My Father’s X-ray

By Francine Witte
Even with his memory gone, his teeth continue, and I take my father to the dentist because food must be chewed, and the father he was would never use a feeding tube.