Make a Wish by Jean Synodinos

December 9, 2020

Words carved with an urgent affection that seems everlasting but always fades when stripped and sanded to dust by a nameless janitor over summer vacation. Words like these: Julie, I wish this was enough. All the love I’ve left in this world is yours.

Hairy Govinda by Kathy Anderson

December 9, 2020

This old yoga lady next to me throws her legs up in the air and farts. That’s okay by me.

The Funeral by Billy Hallal

December 9, 2020

I’d never been alone with a girl in the house (or anywhere, really)—I was pretty sure it was against some parental rule. But so was getting drunk at a wake. And besides, Celeste was my cousin. No cause for suspicion there.

A World Without (Women) by Emma Burcart

November 18, 2020

We know we must use our bodies while we can, train them for a chance at escape. The farmers don’t bother with raising us to be docile. 'That’s what the needle is for,' they say.

As You Are by Kelsey Lepperd

November 11, 2020

You are afraid you’re not strong enough for her to lie to you. You are afraid that if you cannot trust your mother, you won’t know how to love her, and you are trying so hard to let love in.

Leaning into the End of the World by Matthew Hawkins

October 14, 2020

The punishment at the commune for having relations that weren’t explicably geared toward procreation was exile. The risk made it even better.

Growing Pains by M. M. Kaufman

May 20, 2020

Then I met this guy—and he was really very good at parties. Maybe that’s when I should have run.

Stasis by Ryan Bloom

May 20, 2020

The sweet scent of basil, the sharp bite of rosemary, in all the years since Tristan Mallory last breathed them in, they remained as vibrant and alive as ever, even here, light years from Earth, in an Observation Chamber floating in outer space.

JAC by Joseph Rakowski

March 13, 2020

There isn’t a code to yell when a 12-year-old tries to commit suicide in his cell. You just yell help.

Sara Conjures The Devil by Leyna Krow

March 6, 2020

Sara wished her brother dead. She wished old Pastor Brookes dead as well.

The Height of My Apex by Alex Sagona

March 6, 2020

Someone shit in the men’s sauna again, and now the entirety of Apex Fitness smells like the aftermath of a ruptured septic tank.

He Was a Friend of Mine by Munib Khan

February 27, 2020

Murad’s gaze meets Saad’s. Two dozen feet between them. There is no hatred in Murad’s eyes, only pity and kindness, if boys can possess pity and kindness, certainly not desire, and it is not an unforgiving gaze, but that is how Saad will remember it later. He will remember it often, at will, give himself shivers, like reciting a beloved poem. It was love, he will say.

Love Nest by Marshall Howell

February 27, 2020

Lynn met me at the airport, and we took a yellow taxi into Boston and pulled up in front of this dilapidated building on Boylston Street and walked up five flights of stairs. She put a key in the lock and opened the door. “How do you like it?” I put my hands in my pockets so she couldn’t see them trembling and gazed into the tiny room.

How the Rain Remembers by Shebana Coelho

February 20, 2020

My curls return in rain and in sudden wind. They returned that day, on the beach, standing beside a sand wall, scooped out by wind. We were on vacation, him from his regular self, and me from the self that pretended he was truly like this.

Mermaid IPA by Linzy Garcia

February 20, 2020

I remember even the most beautiful, mystical things still die.

Hard Salami by Kent Kosack

February 13, 2020

How am I supposed to know where here is? How does anyone?

A Brief Affair by Thomas Cardamone

February 13, 2020

Every weekday at four PM, a small piece of Paulita Paulo died and went to heaven.