Persistent Visions


fiction by Julie Nováková

21 October 2016

I see the ionized iron glowing in the distant Sun’s corona and the ammonia clouds swirling on the world below. I hear the constant information exchange in my innards. As my body wakes up, I taste a change in the ventilation systems. I’m gazing inside my own body and at the stars at the same time, and then—

Etruscan Sugar

fiction by Anya Johanna DeNiro

14 October 2016

You have struggled for a long time as to whether you have a soul or not—whether anyone does—or if you’re only a gathering of restless and ginned-up personality traits brought together to fool yourself that there is, in fact, a you. As opposed to an unrecognizable someone-else.

To Touch The Sun Before It Fades

fiction by Aimee Ogden

7 October 2016

His eyes are molten puddles in the shadow of his brow and Mariam realizes he’s talking to her: “You don’t have to go out today. You can stay by the radio, if you like.”

Lost and Found

fiction by Shannon Connor Winward

30 September 2016

There isn’t so much a sunrise on these mountains; it’s more a lessening of the dark. I imagine someone turning a giant dimmer switch to brighten the valley.

Maybe I’ve been thinking too much about my mom.

The Invisible Naked City, or, The Dirty Story I Wish Calvino Had Written

fiction by Greta Christina

23 September 2016

Nothing essential is sold in the city: you can find spun sugar here, and chocolates dusted with gold, but must go elsewhere for bread.

Later That Day

fiction by Benjamin Rosenbaum

16 September 2016

I thought perhaps that the assault was just the baboon way, or that it was an initiation, or that I had trespassed on their territory. It turned out that, no, these baboons in particular were just assholes. Some baboons are nice.


fiction by Michael Canfield

9 September 2016

“We have a problem in the basement.” This from Kai, second only to Maya herself on the shift, and now having returned from the downstairs freezer bearing two great bags of shredded iceberg lettuce—bags he held, one under each arm, like trapped dirigibles, dirigibles of lettuce.

How I Lost The Girl

fiction by Dominica Phetteplace

2 September 2016

It wasn’t until I got close enough to kiss her that I saw her pupils were slit like a cats, and when I kissed her, I felt her teeth were fangs. I asked her out to dinner and she said yes.


fiction by Leah Cypess

26 August 2016

“Do you love me?” I asked my husband, the night we were wed.

I had been told to ask. His answer was important to the College. It was not supposed to be important to me.

Pack Dynamics

fiction by Stephanie Burgis

19 August 2016

It took Annie only two dates to figure out that Gary Boran was a werewolf. Maybe that should have been a reason for canceling the third date, but honestly, she’d been in Pittsburgh for nearly a year by then, and she’d had an awful lot of bad dates.

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