By Sunshine Barbito
My knees sink into the mud and grass while I try and think of a prayer. It was just lying there in forever-sleep.
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By Bára Hladík
I was just among the whales. I hang somewhere in water or mud listening to whales move through water until the snakes weave my muscles. They swim up the center of my spine and fill my Lymph with soft poison.
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By Sue Murtagh
Theresa misplaces her phone every single day. Ditto her car keys. But after the regular panic and flurry, running around like an idiot upstairs and down, dialing the phone from the landline, checking yesterday's pockets, she always finds what she's looking for.
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By Sara Sherr
Hannah’s family had a huge farm with something like thirteen acres. She reminded me about all the acres when she tied me to a tree so far away from her parents’ stone mansion that I could no longer see it over all the rolling hills in the distance.
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By Steven Stowell
Sean’s bedroom door was open just a sliver; a thread of warm light peaked out, framed by the shadows of the upstairs hall. Nudging open the door, I found Sean sitting on the floor, leaning his bare shoulders against the side of his bed, facing away from me. He contemplated something held in his hands, blocked by the corner of the bed—a book or a magazine, perhaps. His room was filled with the sweetly sour smell of sleep.
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