Prose by Annabel Smith Art by Alex Hoang The blue dress was hanging on Lizanne’s wall across from her bed, the floaty one with the gathered waist that she’d worn to Mia’s wedding a decade or so prior. She would have to take it to the tailor and have it let out a touch if
TagProse
Like All Storms Do
Prose by Annie Wang Art by Adri Marcano It was a warm night. It’d rained twice today, once in the early morning and again in the last hour. It was still drizzling when they’d left the restaurant, and no one had brought an umbrella. Sol had seen everyone into their cars, propped her arms up
Belladonna
Prose by Amaruuk Bose Art by Adri Marcano It has been eight hours and twenty-seven minutes since I killed Nathan and you still haven’t texted me back. This isn’t unusual—you’ve gone without texting me back before, sometimes for hours at a time when you’re busy, but never this long. And never after I’ve killed someone.
The Fool
Prose by Lorelei McEwen Art by Natalia Mohar Disclaimer: This piece depicts the world through the lens of an autistic protagonist. It is my intention for this piece to foster understanding and acceptance of both autistic struggles and strength. This portrayal is based on my personal experience as an autistic person and may not ring
Chocolate Almond
Prose by Nina Sky Robertson Art by Amy Ng It is October and Highway 19 is bordered by blackberries and stinging nettle, both past their prime and beginning to decay in the burgeoning winter. We work for Glen, a mill subcontractor, burning slash piles that loggers left last winter. Sometimes the piles are huge, the
the grandmother, the mother, and the future wife
Prose by Samhita Shanker Art by Karen Zhang She holds an empty metal tumbler in one hand and a milk pot in the other, carefully pouring steaming coffee back and forth like a pendulum, pulling higher and higher each time. She knows he likes a thick layer of foam at the top and will complain
Thomas
Prose by Amaruuk Bose Art by Amy Ng We were 15 and stupid and had skipped French class because we’d just learned about the concept of free will. We scraped together pocket change for drinks from 7/11, laughing giddily to ourselves as we paced the tiled floor unsupervised. We could get anything we wanted. We’d
Some Birds Sing at Night
Prose by Corey Morrell Art by Aiza Bragg Mrs. Adney lived on her own in a small farmhouse, not ten minutes down the road from us. In the spring she had become ill, and by the time summer came around she was mostly bedridden. Her pain was so bad we could hear it from the
Bittersweet Corners
Prose by Samhita Shanker Art by Luiza Ortiz “Are you ready? We can’t be late for our anniversary!” “Two minutes!” Dilip calls, pushing through loose coins and memories in his closet searching for his cufflinks. His fingers brush aside some dust and instead, find gold glittering in the corner. He reaches in, clasping an errant
Dear Anyone
Prose by Katrina Von Salzen Art by Karen Zhang Dear Anyone, I want us to be friends, you and I. Because friends tell each other secrets. I have a secret- but no one to tell. Will you hold my secret? Will you keep it with you, hold it close to your heart, let it flutter
Aerodynamics
No town looked less aerodynamic than Des Moines, Iowa, when the Earharts moved there in the autumn of 1907. It was all a special kind of coal-dust black, from the blocky Fourth Street high-rises towering some six-seven stories over the little blackened alleys; […]
Invitation
Momo tries. She really does. Wanting to make a good impression on her fiancée’s dad, they specifically took time off work so that she could visit Ying Yue’s dad and get to know him, then invite him to their wedding. […]
Weekend I.
We burn the needle over a lighter Mimi found in her mom’s purse. Then she lies on her pink sheets, facing away from me as I kneel next to her head. With clean hands I tuck a dry bar of soap behind her ear and poise the needle over the dot she drew. […]
My Dad is Jeff Probst
I always knew Dad was handsome. When I was five, I remembered the fluorescent hazy lights of the television flickering before my eyes. I saw people who looked like the kids in my class, and sounded like them. Eing-lish. A language I didn’t quite understand yet […]
“Quinn” By Vlad Krakov
In those days, we didn’t really know what vegans were. There were no vegan options at the 7-11, the Fresh Slice, or at Ali Baba’s Shawarma Stop. When Quinn Holmes first explained to us, three sweaty children standing on a street corner, that he was raised vegan, and what that meant, we were horrified […]