Beachside Property | by Kevin Ducey

And there they went storming up the beaches, afalling from the windows, twisting by the pools, thinking up something cruel, (like) carrying water in slotted spoons...

Bite | by Anne Strand

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She bites and chews and gnaws. She is so focused on the tiny words in her textbook. Then she clamps down on the pen cap so hard that it snaps in half.

Thirteen | by Sam Wachman

You imagine grabbing his hands and free-falling with him, his heart beating in synch with yours as you plummet. You imagine being together, and being helpless.

Faces | by Anna Chotlos

When I was little, my grandma once frightened me when I knocked on the bathroom door and she responded, “Just a minute, I’m putting on my face.”

Sticky | by Zoë Johnson

The flaring circle of her skirt is the unseen net of a spider’s web and your feet are glued to the floor, your tongue tangled in the stickiness of the threads, unable

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