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Deer
Fiction by Nick Gardner Lissa hit her hash pen and curved the county roads through mid-Ohio, hoping to forget about the grad school apps Tom had left tabbed up on his MacBook like he wanted her to find them, mouse hovering over submit. He was applying for Gender Studies in places like Tallahassee, Baton Rouge,…
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Porcellanidae
Fiction by Mandira Pattnaik In our parts, the crab-girls wear skirts a little above their knees, twist their arms to look like unfurled bright petals. They glaze porcelain bodies to resemble a trap, a floret blooming. In times such as ours, the crab-girls lie to their mothers, use swear words, race their cycles with boys…
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Through the Trees, On a River
Fiction by Scott Gates His mama had told him it was too hot to be outside after ten, to come on inside, but the heat didn’t bother him. He had nice spot on a little rise near the pond, and he watched the still water from between two of the five trees on their property.…
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Perseids, World’s End, Last Year
Fiction by S.E. Hartz As I roll my dad up the hill from the parking lot of the World’s End Country Club, I pray for the clouds to part and make this all worth it. Dad’s gripping his hands to stop his tremors, and I can hear him working the dentures into his gums, nervous…
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To Wash and Dry a Vessel
Fiction by Lannie Stabile It started with a cheap coffee mug. Ceramic. Eleven ounces. A standard right-handed mug, though Mama always held it with her left hand, so the company logo faced inward rather than outward. Daddy insisted she use one of the eight matching stoneware pieces received for their wedding, but Mama favored the…
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Cookie Jar People
Fiction by Jeremy Broyles Setting up the flowers was Dixie’s favorite part of her new job at the Wendell Funeral Home. Nothing could undo what disease or unlucky accident had done to those lying within open caskets or handed over to grieving loved ones as boxes of ashes that had once been bodies, but flowers—if…
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Lexie’s Swing
Fiction by Larry D. Thacker A place can sit long enough, neglected and abandoned, with the woods creeping back to take it over, and it’ll feel like fair game. No one wants it. Go explore. The old Pierce property was just like that. By the heat of spring you could hardly see the house, but…
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Eight Seconds
Fiction by Sabrina Hicks I saw the ghost of you riding the fence line of our old ranch, your sad eyes under a cowboy hat, lips set like a half-bent fishing line, same as when you told me you wanted to become a bronc rider in the rodeo—eight seconds with one hand wedged between hide…