Fiction

A Morning in Three Movements

BY: EMILY HIZNY

She is dreaming. She sits in the middle of her room, in the center of a stick circle she collected from outside with lavender incense burning behind her, now she’s free climbing a redwood tree and adding magenta and cerulean filters to the sun…

Chips And Lilies

BY: ELLIE CAMERON

Valentine’s Day clichés slant in the vase, dead from last week. Ruby petals dot the countertop, wrinkled and silky, as Girlfriend smooths them through her fingertips. She sets the petals down and cups her hand against her cheek. The roses glint in her Claddagh ring’s silver like blood…

Spinning Out In The Produce Section

BY: MAGGIE MAURO

You pretend to like people who don’t look at you long enough to notice the small things. That’s why the man across the produce section at the grocery store is so appealing to you. He’s broad in the shoulders and blank in the face, eyes and nose and lips that won’t embed themselves into your psyche…

Sonnets For Falling Girls

BY: OLIVE LAMBERT

Her mother had replaced all the mirrors in the house with funhouse mirrors by the time Sibella turned fourteen. She chose a different one to stare into each morning. She laughed at the abnormally skinny one, wondering how many bones she’d have to lose to have that distorted image come true…

You Shall Go Out And Grow Fat Like Stall-Fed Calves

BY: HAL DITTBRENNER

I make myself a cup of hot chocolate. Tiny sparks of salt glint in the too-expensive tin of dark powder. I decided I wouldn’t heat it up, drinking instead some weak form of chocolate milk. It’s a time best suited for something cold…

The Woodcarver’s Shop

BY: JENNIFER MARTIN

The Woodcarver was sitting in the back of the store when a sharp chime sounded, signaling that a patron had entered his store. The sounds of a busy street filled the space for only a moment, and he lifted his head to the noise, slowing down time to revel in the sound…

The Right Tools

BY KACI MODAVIS

The blank canvas sat idly still in the backseat as I stared at the empty highway ahead of me. The lights in the distance were faint and the city appeared to have toned down for the night. I sat uncomfortably in the seat, with nerves pinched and knuckles gripped…

DOOMSDAY DANCING

BY: ELLA BAKER

“Did you let him fuck you?” “Blue,” said Daisy. “Would you please shut up about it?” Blue spread butter on a raisin bagel, forearms aching on the table. The pair worked around each other, dancing through the smell of coffee and toasted bread…