TagProse

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

Dirty Chai fiction by Karen Hugdahl Meyer   The smell of coffee is thick and the whirring sound of metal blades grinding beans lends an industrial feel to this old-style European café that sits a few blocks from the university where Griffin works in Vancouver. The university campus sits on the edge of a bluff

A Well-Made Man fiction by Katie Coopersmith   Some things about me. Right now, my goal is to have a flat stomach by June 29th, which is the day school gets out. Liz’s stomach is already perfectly flat and she doesn’t even have to do anything to keep it that way. I think about how

Without Words fiction by Michael Warne   .       The steady rumble of the bus engine. Sitting in the back, he touches her knee with his fingertips, lightly traces half-circles up her leg, a swirling line, barely touching, an endless S, skin so much more sensitive between the ghostly touches. .       She sweeps his hand away

The Idiot Imposter fiction by Luke Fraser .      Of all the possible things that Daniel Briton could have imagined doing today, murdering a stranger would have been nowhere on his imaginary list. Yet, when he pushes aside the swinging door to his kitchen after returning home from work, he finds the end of a pistol

An Ode to Sylvia Plath fiction by Nafiza Azad   “The Tongues of Hell” .         We specialize in lies and silver hearts made from crystallized sodium silicate at a hundred and fifteen degrees Celsius. The hearts are liars too. With a twinge of mercury in their azure depths. We have tongues red with the raspberry