Photo Story: Dan Needs Sober Friends

By Patrick Grewe
She screams toward him: “There are faces…” points adamantly “…in the lights!”

Your Hair Looks Like Taillights

By Lexi Butler
You talk to your mother in Spanish, your sister in English, and then in numbers to order Chinese take-out. And you love to talk, especially about how you grew up in a one-room walk-up.

Photo Story: Testing Mom’s Claims During Lunch at the Tail End of Our Final Family Vacation

By Abbie Barker
They’re arguing again. Mom says she shouldn’t sit in the sun...

Struck Silent by Whalesong

By James Claffey
The morning of my mother's last day on earth the nurses didn't notice her waif-like frame slip out the door...

Book Review: Snowdog

By Beret Olsen
In Snowdog, Kim Chinquee’s latest collection of flash fiction, the writing is clean and concise, the language unornamented. “[T]he best time to make fake snow is when it’s actually snowing,” she writes in the opening story.

Photo Story: The Gaps Between

By Denise Bayes
They announced on the radio that Freddie was dead. I picked up the phone. “Come over,” he said.

Photo Story: Valentine

By Christy Brothers
Mom packs us into the car. Billy and Jasmine sleep. I sit up front chewing the corners of my nails until they bleed.

Canadensis

By Corinne Silver
They arrived silently, swiftly during the night and stood present by morning. They flocked the fields, parking lots, and manmade suburban ponds. They were big.

Her Mother, My Mother

By Hema Nataraju
Her mother never wore a sari, my mother never did not. Her mother drove a Mustang, my mother walked everywhere, even though I hated being picked up last.

Photo Story: At a speed of 0.5 inches per second

By Nora Nadjarian
The heartbeat is fast and sharp, except no one knows where the snail’s heart is.

Don’t Bother, They’re Here

By Meg Pokrass
“Guess what, Hon? They’re here!” you said, referring to the clowns. They were pounding on our door.

Gone Hunting

By Binx R. Perino
Danny sucks the wet end of a cigarette, tapping his hand on the steering wheel. Wisps of Maggie’s hair whip around from the rolled-down windows.