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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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
Jameson saw the selkie three times. The first time he was little more than a boy, fifteen and gangly with it, walking along the beach drunk on summer and the rum he’d
He saw a ghost once. Must have been about ten, maybe eleven years old. On nights like tonight, when the ghost was foremost on Brady Scrugg’s mind, he abandoned his apartment for
I. It is the generation of largesse, bangs that yearn to be bouffants like those you see atop your grandmother’s head in old photographs. Your bangs, teased out like a difficult puzzle,
Learn of Her Your father’s mother tells you the story of the being who lives in the bottom of the river. “It’s a river witch,” Grandmother says, “one who guards and protects
Walter brought her to the Sackler Wing the week it opened, the Temple arranged across sparkling, still water. “Remember the mummies?” he said, taking her hand under the slanted wall of glass, the