Stories from
November, 2015

She’d asked him for an answer, but there was only the important sound of meat being separated from bone, the tiny roar of the lantern.

Heather Murphy lives in the mountains of Oregon, where it is too beautiful for mere adjectives.

We talked philosophy all through the night, until the sun didn’t come up. When she finally left, I was no longer sure who or if we were.

Daniel Galef writes things sometimes.

As she plodded back towards her mama’s trailer after three long years, she wondered if that was a mirror waiting in the doorway.

Karl Lykken hails from Texas.

You walk until you can walk no further, then look up at the stars. Have they changed? Have you? It doesn’t matter. You are never going back.

Evelyn Benvie writes for fun and the distant hope of someday getting paid for it.