Call me Victor. I don’t deserve the name of Frankenstein. My creature, my son—let him take that from me. I have given him nothing else.

R. Gatwood (@iwantanewhead) knows every monster by name, even yours.

Eve comes back to Adam again and again—not for love, not for children, but to try to suck that last bite of apple out of his selfish throat.

R. Gatwood is concise.

It’s our first featured author month in exactly twelve months: for the month of July, 4 weekly stories by the most excellent R. Gatwood (who was also featured last May).

I wouldn’t wash her handprint off the window for some time. When she came back, I wanted to see how much she had changed.

Shane Olivieri bookmarks e-books but remembers the page he’s on in a paperback.

There we were, young and reckless, on your parent’s front lawn. Now, we’re 18, with a two-year-old and, somehow, I regret nothing.

Nicholas Powell is a writer located somewhere in America.

There I was, listening to breakup songs halfway before the end.

Kristy Lin designs jewelry.

on a card written in crayon:

dear daddy,

im sorry for hurting u. lets make up and not yell anymore.

love,
mommy

Cynthia Day is an amateur who writes more software than anything else.

I still speak to my dead dad, call his name when I’m alone, yet phone conversations with my grieving mother drip with dark, heavy silence.

Austin Eichelberger just keeps writing.

The 14-year-old swiped mascara on her friend’s eyelashes with a practiced hand.
“My eyes feel all sticky now.”
“Hush, you’re beautiful.”

Lydia Stevens enjoys writing and summer sunsets in Michigan.

There was no sudden shiver, no tingling sixth sense. The night you died, I suspected nothing. Didn’t feel a thing.

Still don’t.

Kelsey Sorge’s (@kelseysorge) resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.