Short Story


A Wistful Storm

By Lillian Flood

In all her many years, the woman did not think she ever witnessed anything as ugly as rain. It wasn’t just the way it stuck to the ground, leaving muddy piles all over the city, littering the sidewalks with grime and built-up trash.

Lilith’s Vengeance

By Grace Toscano

Lilith used to bite her tongue when men talked to her, because her responses would end up hurting her more than the bit of blood.

Lilith wore layers of clothes as armor, wrapping yards of cloth around her body, but even the plainest garments wouldn’t stop the attention.

Mother and Daughter: A Collection of Phrases

By Christina Bencin

Mother and Daughter: A Collection of Phrases

I hate you.

I’m so sorry, Mommy.

I love you.

Stop jumping all over me, baby! You’re like sticky rice.

            But I love you!

The Dance of the Moths

By Anastasiya Sankevich


On a Thursday at the edge of summer and autumn, when constellations studded the sky, I carried a cup of tea into my study. It was a beautiful cup, hand-painted with buds about to burst into flowers.

The Floor Above

By Douglas Coulter

A myriad of rushing footsteps erupt in the floor above; an orchestra of screeching and tapping performed by the disordered unison of business shoes and office furniture ...

The Love Letter

By Tess Vanberg

The second time I got married was the happiest day of my life. It was illegitimate and secretive. It was born of utter foolishness, but the joy that filled my heart that day was unrivaled by anything done before the eyes of the familiar.

The Swirling Eddies of Eigengrau

By Joey Wu

You are trapped.

One day you awoke: a homunculus, immersed in a deep chasm of dark. You wander the confines in solitude, following the faint and ever-so-often beep that resonates through your lonely chamber.


By Madeleine Marder

“You want to join us?” She asks.

Before she knows me. Before she learns not to.

I shake my head. Tell her I’m happier inside with Caroline.

Letters 4-4 A.D.

By Bowie Bladee

Letters 4-4 A.D.

“Supersoaker, LG Smart Refrigerator,” par II

I hope you enjoyed my soliloquy. And I know you did--your mouth is practically open right now. Practically open... Yeah. I'm jotting that down.

A Girl with Insomnia and a Fast Car

By Ruby Cullen

Jessie’s nights have been difficult for as long as she can remember.

Places You’ve Seen in Your Dreams

By Anton

In the mid-to-late 19th century, the city of Paris was undergoing a change. The process was called Haussmannization, and it was a campaign for the modernization of Paris.

The Man who is Lost in the Snow

By James Pressdee

He sat quietly, as he always did, in the living room, upon his large grey sofa, his mug resting on the large grey table, and all of the furniture in that large grey room rested peacefully atop a large grey carpet that absorbed the gradual ageing of his living there.

Cigarette Constellations

By Avalon Lee

The ink darkens, leeching my energy as I trace an index over the text. A rejection letter from California Institute of the Arts, and best regards. No better than every other art academy who also shelved my portfolio.

The letter lands neatly in the bin. I stalk to my studio.

claymation in six scenes

By Christine Baek

claymation in six scenes.


Margaret finds out she is made of clay when she presses into the crook of her elbow and pulls the flesh right off.


a story in the perspective of the love interest

By Julie Pham


the director says ​start​, and you come to life like an automaton. a blink, and


By Pranathi Charasala

“You have nice eyes, but it’s a shame you’re dark.”

“You have beautiful hair, sad that you’re dark.”

“How lucky you are! No pimples or scars, what a shame that you’re you look dark, though.”

A Piece Of Me Died On the 1 Train

By Rachel Shela

Ok, so it’s mid April during Spring break and you’re on the wretched 1 train. You get on at 28th street after a sleepover with your best friend who, in 11 months, will no longer be your friend. You find a seat next to a robust woman who we’re going to call Katelyn.

I Am Not Afraid To Die

By Chloe Chou

The boat reeked of fish.

reversion & recurrence

By Samantha Liu

Trigger Warning: rape


St. Jude

By Grace Ashley

The parking lot felt stagnant as Jude walked across empty yellow lines. The air was weighted with the cold, heavy enough that it almost seemed like the cloud of her breath dispersed down rather than up. The lights flickered above her head with a steady, fly-like buzz.

Skinned Apples

By Cheyenne Mann

                                                                                  SCENE 1

Familiar Hands

By Oli Ray

Time’s hands are surprisingly familiar for all the change they bring. Their grasp is a feeling we all know and yet always seem to forget until they put us a down.

Something to Care For

By Anonymous

Every Saturday, after work, I visit my grandmother at her nursing home. It’s about a half an hour drive to get there, but it’s worth the drive. Grandma G isn’t the normal nursing home type you’d think of: sweet, unsuspecting, a kind of elderly innocence.

Blood, White, and Blue: February 2003

By Catherine Strayhall

It’s been more than 30 years since Nam. It’s been about 20 years since the Wall went up, but this is my first time visiting it. Right now, my nephew, Robin, is headed to Kuwait, and probably soon, Iraq, for another war.


By Alex Dodson

I walked into my room, setting my old backpack down next to my bed. One more, one more year and then I’ll be old enough to move out of this place people call a home.

The Wish Garden: an excerpt

By Andie Davidson

A mindless leaf fluttered out of nowhere and perched on my sandaled foot. In the distance, a disorganized medley of birdsong made up an unrehearsed orchestra. Idyllic as it was, I was in the middle of a fairly typical snapshot of spring.

Past Memories: an excerpt

By Grant Hampton Glover

“Hostile vehicle moving to desired location, ”Ryan heard his spotter and put his handheld bible back into his shirt pocket. Ryan’s face was smeared with camouflage paint, and his rifle was covered in a rifle wrap, with his Ghillie suit covering the rest of his body.


By Tayler Anne Klein

I broke the silence with a short cough. If anyone else had been in
the sunlit room with me, they would have started and stared as if
I’d broken a silence not meant to be disturbed.