The Frog Pond
Abby ManzellaThe rain’s moisture seeps into my car, smelling like the pond where my brother and I hopped across rocks, catching frogs to show to each other and then release.
Dark Wood
By Leonard KressWe realize that we are lost in the dark woods. Then we encounter familiar voices and faces, ones we’ve met before on the outside.
Flemish Tavern
By Phillip SterlingHe tells me that if you were a sniper in Belgium during the war, you wanted to be in the Ardennes when the rations ran out—there were still rabbits and squirrels in the mountains ...
Photo Story: 1974
By Riley AnnWe didn’t talk that summer. My father drowned out the silence with the news: Nixon, war, the World Series...
You play as a femme venom avatar & we never get past the character creation page
By Erin VachonWe’re mashing up faces in the RPG campaign on your game system, two boys sitting, joysticking experience points in a multifaceted digitizer...
False Stars
By Frances BadgettThe frozen ground, hard and cold, lumped under their blanket, dug into them. She followed his finger to the sky.
Photo Story: If I Could Buy Thoughts
By Amy MarquesI would give a penny to the student who sits in the back and looks down whenever they sense a question coming ...
Golden State
By Charles PrelleWe’re humming down the Pacific Coast Highway just north of San Francisco on our gap year in a rented real American cherry red 1993 Ford Mustang...
Photo Story: The Candy Store Thinks She’s an Ocean
By Linda Grierson-IrishShe’d glimpsed scenes from a documentary on a girl’s mobile screen. Now her syrupy exhalations smell brackish.
Timestruck
By Myna ChangThere’s a split second, after the ignition catches and the radio blasts out a loud loud song from high school, when time strikes...
Photo Story: Now, We’ll Hold Her Forever
By Lauren KardosI cup you in my palm, brushing your curls with my thumbnail. The ringlets, once soda-can width, now spiral like tiny quinoa germs.
The Weight of Things
By Audrey AltEvery Friday, she’s on time to pick up her grandfather, who teases, “Punctuality is your best quality.”
Wild Thing
By Karen CrawfordMother empties Father’s pockets and confiscates his phone. Dollar bills unfurl. Pills scatter like candy across the floor.
