Photo Story: 8. And I Have Never Seen Such Savage Delight Since

By Yunya Yang
1. Long ago, we drove in the woods. 2. It was night. My mother was at the wheel, the headlights conjuring shape-shifting wraiths drifting in the darkness.

Talking Flash with Nancy Stohlman: Exercises in Cross-Pollination

Nancy Stohlman is drawn to the performative in life and fiction, which means her words don't seem to live just on the page. They tend to always be looking for a stage.

Flash Exercise: Cut It In Half

Writers aren’t always sure what is and isn’t necessary in their work, especially since they’ve lovingly crafted every word. Each story will ultimately tell you what it needs, but a great exercise to make that clearer is to cut your story in half.

Chloe

By Eric Wilson
Hi, it’s Arlene Radford down the street. Sorry to be phoning you so late at night, but it’s about our cat, Chloe.

The Path to the Dark Side is Covered in PB&J

By Tonja Matney Reynolds
Sarah’s eight-year-old son is freaking out. His one perfect origami Yoda is missing.

Photo Story: Wait

By Yash Seyedbagheri
Wait your turn, signs proclaim. Wait for Chinese food. Wait to pick up cocktails from the bar, your only Friday night friends now.

Lipstick

By Sarah Freligh
We learned to paint our mouths kissable, but were taught not to. By the parish priest, by our mothers, by Seventeen magazine.

Photo Story: Breaths Caught on His Echoes

By C. B. Stuckey
When he burned, she watched from the window as the casket shifted toward the chamber, as the cardboard lid vibrated ...

Lost Boys

By Stephanie Yu
Years later, we would have mortgages, car payments, and life insurance, but no recollection of when we all dropped acid together in the high desert after graduation.

Domestic

By Frances Gapper
Luke started to howl as Mum click-clicked the washing machine. “He’ll be all nice and fresh!” she cried in her bright and ruthless voice.

Embroidery

By Thaisa Frank
Because I couldn’t find you, I embroidered little houses and visited each one. Some houses floated, tugging on their threads.

Photo Story: The Spoon

By Beth Schmidt
The fork snored lightly, sound asleep and unaware of what tomorrow would bring.