-
In the Aftermath by Phil M. Robinson
Another synthetic sunrise. A plastic dawn. How long has it been now? It’s amazing what you can forget when you’ve spent so long chained to a bed, with webs of bloody tubes to tie you down. Each time I breathe, I feel the drain in my chest as it struggles and strains to filter the…
-
The Lizard of Lamont Goods by Noah Gibson
LAMONT GOODS. Food you love. Food for your family. The slogan had been etched on banners and billboards all around town for years. Lamont Goods was your basic, run of the mill grocery store. The prices were fair. The products were good. The employees ranged from charming, professional adults to teens that didn’t give a…
-
Body/Fear by Lorhenz Lacsa
The cold cradled the skin of my ribs as I sat there. The precision in the airis surgical—hair strands felt,every inch wet from sweat.How was I humanwhen all I felt was industrial?How is it a heart when it’s a whirring gear that drags,and drags, and drags?My father’s rusts never leftmy blood; I wish I couldregulate…
-
The Watchers by Melissa Jornd
We watch you, sneaking through the alleys. You blend into the shadows with a combination of charms and carefulness. The secrets aren’t meant for you. Your desire and curiosity woke us from our semi-slumber before you came. We watched you hone your skills, pursuing General Knowledge, then Advanced Magic & Rhetoric, then Masters of Sorcery.…
-
The Emerald Shore by Chris Browley
There was always something that washed up on the shore. Malcolm Hayes sprawled half-drowned under the relentless sun. Waves dragged his body towards the water, grinding him into the cold, grey sand. Even the crabs ignored him. Dozens of tiny legs pricked against his flesh as they walked over another piece of debris. Mud dripped…
-
Wechselbalg by E.A. DePriest
The creature sitting across the table from me is wearing my brother’s face. It has a squat, childlike body, a sickly-sweet mask that attempts to beguile any who look upon it. I watch as it picks up the spoon, dips it into the bowl, brings it nearly empty to its lips, red and rubbery like…
-
Salt in the Wound by Claire Sweetow
My mother died on a Wednesday night in February. I sat at the kitchen table, staring down at the pinpoints of salt dotted on the dark wood and pressed my hands down onto the granules, observing the particles that stuck versus the ones that simply made light impressions on my skin. The only sound I…
-
The Conifers by Rhonda Rosenheck
(a villanelle) The conifers spoke to the deciduous treesDeep in the cool, ancient wood.“Wish,” they whispered, “they were a gentler species.” Honey locusts and maples nodded their leaves,Mulberries and oaks, as well, understood.The conifers spoke to the deciduous trees:“Shall nature stand by as they do as they please?”“We know,” wept the Willow sisters, both so…
