Dystopian Voyeurs
By Len Kuntz When you tell me all the heroes have been hung, I curl up with the moon and hold its shivering belly to
By Len Kuntz When you tell me all the heroes have been hung, I curl up with the moon and hold its shivering belly to
By Simon Linington Evangeline called from Mexico City and said what she had to say, “Goodbye Simon.” I’ve heard it before. In front of me
By Len Kuntz In what was once an old grain mill or slaughterhouse, they lined us up in an inverted pyramid, like scuffed bowling pins.
By Alice Kaltman When Doris saw the swan earrings twinkling in the window of the jewelry store, she became a woman possessed. The kind of
By Cynthia Blake Thompson It was winter, nearly carnival time, and I went to Fatebenefratelli to visit Alberto’s father nearly every day. Fatebenefratelli was not
By Victoria Brown For their fourth date Aneeta decided to move her relationship with Phillip forward, a step. They’d gone the first night to Vanderbilt,
By Jen Knox The girls crash into each other and then the wall. A jumble of screams and giggles traverse the hallway as Cassandra’s neighbors,
By Noel Alumit The soundtrack of Maybe Someday was first heard in a small house on Vendome Avenue. It was eventually heard in homes on
By Len Kuntz It was my therapist’s idea. Ordinarily, he merely listened, taking a note or two during our sessions, but I could tell my
By Kathy Fish It begins like this: The baby is red and wrinkled and squalling or bleating like a lamb. The baby has lots of
By Rae Bryant I’m a crack shot, you know. That’s how he says it. We’re moving lettuces around on our plates at a sunny little
Applying Digital Marketing Tactics, “Secret” Church Goes Viral By Nana Ekua Brew-Hammond The Joseph of Arimathea Center for Secret Believers, better known as the JofACSB,
By Roof Alexander The first time I met Luke was in the St. Michaels emergency room. He was trying to convince his girlfriend that he
By William Cass Tim got up early. It was Saturday. The trailer was still. He lifted the corner of the curtain with his finger and
BY MATTHEW CHENEY When I was a child, we lived inside the war. Our parents went away sometime during the last year, leaving me and
Requiem for Jimmy The Community Choir of the Community BY TIM KREIDER The news spread quickly that he was gone. And while nobody could deny
BY BENJAMIN MATVEY Suddenly, there is a scent in my nose that makes everything around me irrelevant: the perfume of the first girl who was
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