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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(*fourteen unverified claims) Ghost Dads exist, believe you me. Fathers, living and no longer, conjure equivalent quality spirits. Their shadows extend indefinitely across villages, shires, and provinces. Across the block. Across the
On the morning of 9/11, six hours before the first plane would crash into the north tower, my cousin woke up and said to his mother: something terrible will happen to the
I loathed the place from the first hour — indeed, I loathed it even before I had stepped across its threshold, which should tell you something about the mind’s sick propensity for
Driving through a cold spring drizzle, I noticed a young woman, smoking. She was standing under the eaves of a non-descript office building, wearing heels and a short, clingy black dress, her arms, neck,
Somewhere in the endless spill of yellow sand between Phoenix and Tucson, we drove in silence, the roar of the long highway lulling me to sleep. With my head against the window,
PLCAA: Protection of Lawful Commerce in Arms Act. Broad immunity granted to gun manufacturers and dealers. An impenetrable legal shield. And by impenetrable, I mean exceptional in how few exceptions Congress permits
Dad teaches me how to make rice: “Measure the rice with your heart, then fill the water to your knuckle.” The tap fills the black pot as a cloud of starch rises.
I’d just hopped on an airplane, on my way home from a tennis weekend with friends, when my daughter, Elana called—a phone call that would send me reeling. “M-o-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m-m,” she wailed. It
Divorced and in my fifties, I entered a relationship with Ben. At 64, he was compact, attractive, and also divorced, with wavy gray hair, and hips even slimmer than mine. Ben’s tender,
That summer, I imagined myself as a dolphin, porpoising through the water from one side of the pool to another, arms outstretched, my hands a prow, my ponytail like a fin. I’d