• Crime,  Short Story

    The Wolf by Karen Tully

    Justice fled through the dim, emergency lighting in the halls of the Long Beach Super 8. She heard a door shut down the hall behind her. “Justice?” Toby’s voice called. She knew the machete from his cheerful, sticker-covered knife case would be in his hand. “Please Pet, don’t run.” Justice, given name Petunia, ground her teeth at the hated nickname. But she didn’t stop to correct him. Something hanging from her jeans pocket slapped her rear under her flannel as she ran and opened the stairwell door. She reached behind her and felt – stiff work gloves? She didn’t take the time to wonder where they came from, but dashed…

  • Poetry

    It’s the Journey by Elizabeth Beck

    FOCUS On the blur of leaves crunched and curling, the way the autumn sun wavers the road, transforming each highway rise into flooded streams. FOCUS On the music cutting in and out as the signal boosts between the summits and drains to static or settle on an old time religion gospel preaching something like Christianity, with a bitter twist. Better not. FOCUS On the waysides and rest stops with bright shouting tastes available for just a little more than what clinks between the fingers in your pocket. Settle for the dribble past the chemical build up on the water fountain. Touch your tongue to the crumbling steel. To continue reading…

  • Short Story

    The Lichen Story by Cameron Kobes

    I don’t get a name in this story. Hell, why would I? I’m not the one having the dream. The one having the dream, he has a name. I’m just a freak his subconscious cooked up. How do you like that? I don’t even get an identity, I’m just made of pieces his mind put together. You ask me, that’s not right. You ask me, I drew the short stick in a bad way. But who asks me? I’m not even a character. The dreamer’s the character. He probably thinks this whole thing is about him. He can think what he wants, I don’t care. It’s a desert, this place.…

  • Fantasy, Sci-fi,  Short Story

    Circle of Oaks By Ellen Miffitt

    It happened in the woods, far from the nearest dwelling. Removed from civilization proper, the forest primeval was deep, dark, silent. So remote, little human contact had been made with this section of forest. It stood untouched, sacred in stance. The eldest trees scratched the sky with tender twigs. The sunlight filtered through this ancient stand’s thick trunks and massive branches to the moss covered earth rich with centuries of leaf droppings. She sat still, frozen in place, except for her heaving chest as she struggled to catch her breath. A faint finger of light slide through the tangle of forest canopy brushing her ebony hair barely giving form to…

  • Poetry

    Two Poems from “The Things That Gathers” by Lucas Smiraldo

    Featured are the poems Johnny Damon and For People Who Have Considered Suicide When Resurrection is Enough Johnny Damon Johnny Damon was dead. Nine times, nine games his hair was moving his feet were flying but everyone in Boston would whisper, Dead man swinging and they knew Johnny Damon was dead– To continue reading selections from “The Things That Gather,” click here.  

  • Fiction,  Short Story

    Kindling Kindness by Jennifer Chushcoff

    Owen glared out the cottage window. “There’s nothin’ to do,” he said. “Never is.” A beetle walked across the sill and he squashed it to feel its tiny exoskeleton crinkle flat. He held up his thumb to examine the iridescent shell in the sunlight. Beyond his thumb he caught sight of a woodchuck peeking out of its burrow in the orchard. He hurried outdoors and cut across his mother’s garden, leaving a trail of bruised petals and broken stems. He filled a pitcher with water and rushed to the mound. The woodchuck saw him coming and ducked back into its hole. Owen poured water into the burrow and kicked dirt…

  • Memoir,  Poetry

    Infertility Goddess by Heather Pilder Olson

    I am an infertility goddess. You can’t wear me around your neck like a totem. You can’t rub my belly for good luck. I spent 10 years of my life trying to have a baby. It didn’t work. I didn’t get the happy ending you expect. I never read What to Expect When You’re Expecting. I was never expecting. But I want to tell you my story: I want you to hear me. We often stay silent. It’s time to get loud. To continue reading Infertility Goddess, click here.

  • Fantasy, Sci-fi,  Short Story

    Stripes by Jonah Barrett

    1 Missed Call, 1:25am Sylvia Zou, 1:26am: Are you asleep? This isn’t anything scary but could you call me? Sylvia Zou, 2:34am: Okay possibly scary. Not about us but I’m freaking out right now. I feel really bad, and I think your phone is down and…fuck. I’d really love your help right now Megan. I know you hate it when people are touchy feely but you help me a lot sometimes 2 Missed Calls, 2:39am Sylvia Zou, 2:55am: I’m a little better now. I still wanna talk though. Please. Not for any real reason, I think it would just calm me down, or something. I’m really sorry for this slew…