Non-Contest Submissions: “Desire” (Issue 75) UPDATE: We have re-opened non-contest submissions for fiction, nonfiction and poetry for the next two weeks, until Saturday, November 10th, 2018. Submit! Contest Submissions: “Desire” (Issue 75) Submission Period: September 24th – November 5th Finalist Judges: Jo Ann Beard – Nonfiction Contest Nicole Walker – Flash Prose
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Nobody said anything outright but there was always some insinuation. Maybe their eyes wouldn’t blink, or their voices went high as they tried to sound like they weren’t at all alarmed to
1. Free Audiobook I got one free audiobook for downloading the app, so I downloaded Middlemarch, which is 35 hours and 38 minutes. Trying to listen to this audiobook has exposed the
Alice was the first of us to fade away. The first signs began when winter dawned. Early, before the sun rose, the morning dew solidified into crystals, which crunched like gravel beneath
Rule #1: The venue sets the tone for everything that happens next. The Sugar Factory on Ocean Drive has become the rendezvous spot for these clandestine meetings with Sydney. They chose it
Nobody expected butterflies. Dense flocks appeared along the Atlantic Seaboard that August, radial bands stretching from Cape Canaveral to Mount Desert Island. Eyewitnesses snarled the phones at natural resource departments claiming aerial
The bell clangs. “I’m coming,” Henry Klackum calls from behind the backroom’s curtain. He sets down the amber bottle and the brush dewed with paste. On the wide, pine table sit twelve
Night Six, my mother invites me to help with dinner. From the fridge she pulls tofu and scallops and shrimp without tails. I search the cabinets for almond milk, ask what about
Placenta, you scared me. There you were, bulging and bright, right in front of me under the stare of the cold hospital room. You came shortly after an on-call male doctor in
1. On the rare occasion that Charon went to find Mr. and Mrs. Naaji, he packed his own dented watering-can and walked the long way to the cemetery. He passed Elm Street
Jupiter’s orbit they called it, the path he took nearly every day. He’d start from his little high-stepped house at the farthest end of Duane Street, where the road gets spotty, disappearing