Becoming Dominican York
A Short Story by Maria Diaz If my brother found out that I was sleeping with one of the Beltrez boys, he would kill me. We had to be really secretive about it — sneaking out when the entire campo was at church, pretending we were arranging community meals so that we could be in…
My Notes and Hers
A Flash Fiction by Logan Cox I’m enraptured the precise moment your fingers first touch the keys. It’s happened every time I’ve come into this place to write and focus, but I can’t seem to do either when you begin to play that infernal piano, so it’s really just two hours of pretending not to…
True Artists Light a Misery Lantern
A Short Story by E. M. Issam “It was three winters ago when the artist declared their war against excuses,” Hamil started. “And it was hot. Real hot. The hottest winter in a decade. All the winters are hot now, but this one you could see the air above the road all shimmering in waves…
Myth
A Short Story by Elizabeth Powers Mirabel had known Joseph for all of three hours, and already she knew that she wanted to bash in his head. Or lick his face. She couldn’t really decide which, and the line between destruction and desire was maddening. He had introduced himself as Joseph K, and she had…
The Body in the Library
A Short Story by Emily Guy Birken Mrs. Bantry stood in the doorway of her richly appointed library and fumed. She turned her disapproving glare from the sprawled limbs and lifeless eyes cluttering up her Persian rug to her husband, whose mouth still gaped open. “Well?!” she demanded. Mr. Bantry immediately began sputtering. “My…my dear!…
Racing Away
A Short Story by Sara P. Cullen It went off at 3:05 in the morning, but he’d been awake hours before, just waiting for the shrill sounding alarm that would have most people groaning and curling back into their nook of blankets. Not him. He’d been waiting impatiently. Barely creased, he pulled back the covers…
Trained Her Well
A Short Story by Philip Goldberg Another night, and once again the Runner hugged the building walls, still damp from the rain that had stopped falling not long ago. The scrawled messages and spray-painted symbols glistened on the wet concrete. Water drops dripped from the barbed wire wrapped around every mailbox. She passed it all…
The Secret Agenda
Fiction by Michael Washburn A couple of months into our campaign to make Julian Assange the next prime minister, something entirely unexpected happened. “Hey Pete, what trouble are we in now?” said my colleague Devin, gazing through a window near the front of our makeshift headquarters. “Come again, Devin?” “Take a look outside, mate.” I…