TagProse

Sound Years Fiction by Charmaine Anne Li Josquin fell awake when the music ended. The needle lifted and he lifted his eyes. He glanced out the window: nothing. Yawning, Josquin proceeded to perform his checks: navigation, oxygen levels, fuel, artificial air pressure and gravity. He looked at what little data the MatScan had picked up in

Magnets Non-Fiction by Chloe Rose Stuart-Ulin When I was younger my father and I would take apart car engines. Run experiments in the basement up North. Make fun of everything because we could always agree on what we didn’t like. Now I come home from the West Coast for a couple of weeks over Christmas, a

Illustration by Anne Tastad Broke. Prose by Bára Hladíková Every one of our appliances broke the week we were trying to break up. It started with the toaster. I had just received my results for Celiac disease: positive. I decided to eat all the bread in our apartment and then never again. That meant the seven

Bang! Ka-Pow! Fiction by Christina Hu Mom’s too old to be inquisitive but the kid is zooming around like this empty street is the best thing he’s ever seen. He has his favourite towel tied, Superman style, around his neck. Mom calls for him to slow down but he’s too busy running forward with his fist

Zoetrope Fiction by Ray Clark In her father’s study, the mechanism spun, an ouroboros of magnets fixed to a wooden wheel. The wires sparked with each revolution, illuminating hills and valleys of notes that spread across his desk like an unknown country. She drew back her hand, recoiled from the light. Even as her parents

A Memory in the Storm fiction by Shail Bhath   When the storm begins—the worst one the island has seen in all my years—I am looking for my cat, Persephone. She is a fat orange tabby with three uneven stripes on her back, and she is going blind. “Persephone!” I call out, from behind the

Equipo Cuba fiction by Hannah Siden Habana, 1969 I pretend that I am flying as I run. I hold my arms out like airplane wings, and people dodge me as I sprint down La Rampa towards the Malecón. In school they would tell me this is unbecoming behavior for a fourteen year-old young man of

  Listening To it Fall fiction by Mormei Zanke When I was younger my Dad would take me on long road trips on a whim. He would wake me up before the rest of our family was awake by opening my door and letting the hallway light stream onto my pumpkin patterned bedspread. He’d leave

Cicada fiction by Rachel Kim It’s surprising how bright the sun is, even though the sky is barely visible through the tall buildings crowding the city. I’m squinting. The air is humid and hot and everything—from the soda bottles to the people—is sweating.Sung-Min and I are sitting under the shade of a skinny tree, sharing

The Mermaid fiction by Hannah van Dijk Full fathom five thy father lies. Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange – William Shakespeare, The Tempest When we were seven our father bought a house

The Possession fiction by Talia Varoglu He was sitting on the sidewalk. Slouched against a parking meter, inanimate, like the fingers of god had simply plucked him after the fall and deposited him here. He wore a torn flannel shirt under two mismatched jackets that lacked zippers; stockinged toes poked out of the crumbling mesh

The Enchanted Ball Gown: A Satire This work is now accessible only in the print edition, as per the author’s request. You can buy the print edition at our launch parties and ESA events, or send us a quick e-mail request.

Sitting on a Beach in Brazil I feel like the Congo Watching Conrad Finally Leave Forever fiction by Alberto Cristoffanini Benavente That year, Lou Morrison took the slam by storm. Nobody really knew where he’d come from; he just kinda showed up and won. Everyone referred to him by his first and last name. He

Listening and Relistening: An Outside Account of Mental Illness creative nonfiction by Sarah Ens   August, 2000 Driving home from Saskatchewan, I count fence poles and trace rivers of wheat and green. I breathe out clouds onto the window to dust the giant blue sky and shift to ask Dad, “Why is Brian Wilson lying

My City fiction by Sam Becker   My eyes were covered in razor wire just before I threw myself against the pavement. My hands are already bound with parchment. The India ink sticks firmly to my wrists and some is in my lungs as well. I will meet no one here. I have watched many