• The Vector by Daniel Nash

    Running underneath an indifferent 2 p.m. sun I traverse the surface of Mars in the grip of a runner’s high. I pant hard as sweet salt dews from the unseen portals of my skin. It stings my eyes.

  • Boys’ Club by Christian Carvajal

         After everything she’d been through, it was a pleasure to just be alone. It was especially good to drive herself through this maze of DC traffic, her escort trailing discreetly four cars back. She sang along with the radio, an ABBA song to which she barely knew the words, and fantasized about ditching her protectors at a red light. There’d be no point; they’d already encircled the restaurant and swept its most private dining room. It was a mild fall day in Washington, the first Tuesday morning in November, and she relished being out and about as nothing more than a retired grandmother. Awkward reading glasses and a gray, knitted…

  • Harboring Ghosts by Christina Butcher

         You’ve been gone for one year, one month and eleven days. You don’t send me any letters. No long-winded explanation folded and pressed into an envelope, waiting for me in the mailbox. No email, either, despite the perk of complete emotional detachment our digital world offers. No phone calls. No friends dropping by at odd hours to pick up your clothes or books, all eyes and hands stumbling over each other, avoiding confrontation at all costs. Nothing. You simply vanished.      So tonight, after one year, one month and eleven days, I burned the barn down.