After attending an anti-war protest in Hyde Park

By Sam Payne
A fatality on the line at Acton stops the trains leaving Paddington and we stare at the departure boards, eyes still stinging from the tear gas.

Out of Why

By Bryan Starchman
It was Day 172 of sheltering in place and Karen was going to kill her family.

Arabella

By Katie Burgess
We were neighborhood royalty right up until the cops searched our house. They weren’t even looking for Arabella—they wanted all the car stereos Daddy took.

The week our landlord kicks us out

By Frankie McMillan
No rescue anywhere so we huddle around a fire under the railway bridge. Bennie says he knows where to score free chicken and he scrolls the Poultry Rehoming page.

In Case You Missed It

By Kim Magowan
There was a window when one could grocery shop without a mask. There was a window after my mother stopped chemo when she felt better, gained a few pounds. The color returned to her face.

Photo Story: Rigs Full O’ Pigs

By Lisa H. Owens
The squealing of hogs was enough to make his ears bleed. He’d driven all night … Rigs Full O’ Pigs. He liked the sound of that.

Foreclosure

By Alice Hatcher
They ordered beef bourguignon and an expensive bottle of cabernet, something extravagant to celebrate the closing.

In Which the Dwarves Enroll in the Comatose Princess Exchange Program

By Katelyn Moorman
Though the girl had died, she didn’t rot, so the dwarves kept watch over her body. First she was in a glass covering out front, but they thought that gaudy...

Other Families’ Photos

By Rich Gravelin
The antique mall reeks of nicotine-stained cotton and cold cream. I hunt vintage cufflinks; he buys other families’ photos. Groups of redheads are his Grail.

Portrait of the Artist Lost in Target

By Ryan Griffith
Where are you Andy Warhol, in all these acres of antiseptics and ointments? Are you hiding under the racks of slacks like a petulant child too cool for his mother?

The Twin

By Sam Baldassari
At the hospital, I’m the bad news. My sister, however, lives. She grows, laughs, and bleeds. Wears clothes and removes them. Scribbles in a journal. Prays.

Spring Again

By Jess D. Taylor
My second March without a backyard, and while yes, I miss things about the last place we rented together (especially the thick grass where the girls ran circles), our first rental is what I keep conjuring.