Stories

I stood beside his casket and told him goodbye with the same indifference he’d said it back when I was nine.

Steven Fischer is a writer living in Southern Wisconsin.

They ambled down the sidewalk, hands clasped, stars above. A penny launched, dropped silently into the fountain of dreams already come true.

Brooke Anderson (@themodernreal) writes, facilitates, and wishes she had more time to investigate caribou.

Here I sit, in a room with children below their own grade level. They think I am the same. I taught myself how to read. We aren’t the same.

Riley Jackson writes short shorts, sci-fi/fantasy stories, and is working on a fantasy novel.

Mom’s laugh dies down as we talk about her “Dory disease,” and she whispers into the phone, “Please don’t ever let me forget I love God.”

Emily Bowers teaches writing, drinks coffee, and occasionally talks to her cat, Russell Crowe. He’s not great at advice.

He re-opened the can of beans and when he looked inside, again, there was nothing left.

J.P. Hern lives in South Florida, where you can find him at the beach or at a coffee house drinking Cuban coffee.

The sky is crying, teardrops on endless blue. And they can see her sadness but all they do is turn their faces and lift their umbrellas.

Sophia Huang is a 14-year old with big dreams and no way of reaching them.

I sent you a love letter with two forever stamps on it.

Kristy Lin designs jewelry.

The trombone was full of spit. He accepted the whiskey gracefully and when no one was looking, tipped his glass of water into it.

Francine Cunningham is an Aboriginal author living and writing in Canada.

Feigning nonchalance, she knocked back the placebo before quickly realizing that she would hate herself for a different reason if it worked.

Stephanie Hutton is a sleep-deprived clinical psychologist.

You leave the perfect amount of water in your nightstand glass each morning to feed my orchid.

Drew Knapp. DC. @zuzwan.