You Killed Them
Murder Story Rain falls surrounding Ben. It drips from his nose and hair as it pours. He stands unmoving, staring down at the headstone of his father and mother on the three-year anniversary of...
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For the term "manifesto".
Somewhere in the Waves – Film Feature
Short Film Dominick Nero’s debut short film Somewhere in the Waves has been challenging viewers to reckon with their spirituality since its festival premiere in New York City earlier this summer. “People get angry when...
Fixed On War
Short Story Face down in the mud, I dragged myself through thorns and thickets of shrubs. The damp was seeping into my boots, and the chill biting at my flesh. My men surrounded...
Epilepsy; or, How I Ruined My Favorite Shirt
True Story I flittered my eyes open for the first time. The first light I had ever seen entered my eyes. It was blinding and filled my throbbing head. I jammed my eyes...
The Baker, The Butcher and The Brewer, Part Four – The Brewer 17
Serial Fiction The Brewer was building on a steady progress. He felt like he was inside a cheesecake, soft and creamy all around. He dosed off. He was sitting in his first grade...
Interview of a Lifetime
Short Story Grant slides his tie into the nook of his collared shirt. Looking at the mirror, he makes sure it is placed perfectly. He runs his hand through his hair; it is...
Summer’s Spring
Summer Poetry Summer for the first time Feeling colors and blossoming For the first time A giddiness for the world It tickles in the middle Like a flower playing Peekaboo, giggling Below my...
Summer Sky
Poem What does one need more than the sky above – blue and big? It’s the story of an old man, the hug of tired mother. It smells of the ocean wild, I...
My Sole Dominion
Poem I betray the age of this earth. With my tongue I paint the flames of evening wheat fields; With my hair the billowing debutante gowns of willows; With my toes the dripping emerald...
Blue and Gold
Short Story The summer was made of us driving, sitting, and getting drunk. Our work schedules didn’t match up well, so we would always hangout pretty late in the day. We’d drive your truck...
The Present Past
Life Poetry The baguette shaped scar on my finger reminds me of a time when I still believed in magic When I thought I was the reincarnation of a pharaoh’s wife When I used...
