Short Story



By Sia Mehta

I can’t grapple with – understand, process, comprehend – the fact that I am, by all evidence against me, very mentally ill. I am sick. I am weak and guilty. There is something – a variety of things – wrong, here. My mother is published in numerous medical journals.

the unread letter

By Ananya Kashyap

I. The sun dipped below the horizon; I clutched my grandma’s hand a bit tighter. She had turned sixty-seven that day, I was a mere ten. We strolled through the old neighbourhood, the streets lined with trees bearing shiuli flowers, their fragrant aroma hanging in the air.


By Joseph Shonkwiler

A man walked down cold, desolate streets wearing nothing but a patched up hoodie and ill-fitting boxers. He didn’t know how he had gotten those clothes. He wasn’t sure how he would explain them to his wife. Admittedly, he probably wouldn't have to. Little chance she would care.

Dancing in a Fight for Myself

By Hanna Cochran

When I dance for the kitchen window, the mirror it becomes in the dark, I become shapeless. Like my soul feels. No longer a female body—or male—but an artform; my representation of authenticity.

Leap Year

By Harrison Jones

It was mid-November, 1983 when James first got sick. It started with a dry cough and exhaustion; in all ten years that Edward had been with him, the occasional affliction was nothing out of the ordinary.

the sun and i

By Arielle Li

She was the epitome of fragile beauty: lips slightly parted, rosy flush tinting the apples of her cheeks, raven hair framing her face. I knelt there, holding her wrist, touching the papery skin that shielded her blue-green veins. A ball of unshakeable guilt weighed down my chest.


By Eva Bacon

Oftentimes, it’s said that people make a home, not the place.

The Doctor's Appointment

By Sumlina Alam

My feet bounced as I waited in the dimly lit examination room. The dark curtains blocked out any hints of sunlight, the only light source being the single fluorescent lamp standing in the center of the room.

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.

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.