Persistent Visions

Snowflakes

fiction by Cassie Alexander

17 February 2017

Genetic material was less emotionally charged than embryo. Things could happen to embryos. You could watch the Discovery Channel and find them, watch cells dividing, see small suckling baby kangaroos. But “genetic materials” were the sorts of things you rinsed off in the shower or threw out with the trash.

The Herb Wife's Apprentice

fiction by Story Boyle

3 February 2017

Even after I dosed the hounds, I wasn’t prepared for his pursuit. Foolish. Drugged dogs won’t stop a force of nature. I’d underestimated his pride, but that still didn’t make me a doll—I was not a toy that he could rip limb from limb and then toss broken among the others.

Snow Devils

fiction by Charles Payseur

27 January 2017

Time was it was corn, or soy, or whatever the hell people used to grow here before the snows set up permanent residence, before the only way of growing things was in the greenhouses.

Red Kite Kindred

fiction by E. Saxey

20 January 2017

Footprints round my doorstone, when I came home. A strong woman, I am, and if someone has slunk unasked into my cottage they should be the fearful one.

USE ONCE AND DESTROY

fiction by Philip A. Suggars

13 January 2017

It's last break of my shift and have just stepped out to the loading bay, leaving Little Mickey on duty, who since we are on subject is not so little and whose moniker am not so sure is even Mickey.

People of the Wild

fiction by Genevieve Williams

6 January 2017

You can get tents that you toss in the air and they come down fully set up and ready to crawl into. But to be one of the arktoi, you need to know how to do it the old way.

Goodbye Princess

fiction by Mary Breaden

30 December 2016

... my recent spin around the dance floor with my boyfriend was enough to convince me that the stranger was right: I was a motherfucking pearl.

Tony(e)

fiction by Hannah Onoguwe

23 December 2016

I was scrubbing the pot for the second time to get all the palm oil out when Tonye’s arms came around me. I jumped, orange-streaked suds spraying everywhere. I hadn’t heard him coming.

Many Happy and Excellent Natures

fiction by J. G. Formato

16 December 2016

Hardee’s is right across the street from the graveyard. So, while you’re leisurely sucking down a hand-dipped vanilla milkshake, trying to figure out exactly how one would hand-dip a milkshake, you’re interrupted by the view.

The Red Flower

fiction by Lavie Tidhar

9 December 2016

Pine needles crunched underfoot. The broken moon hung in the sky, as deformed and grotesque as a clown mask.

Summer in Amber

fiction by Susana Vallejo

2 December 2016

It was the first time I entered Albert’s room. The room of the killer. I was afraid. A fear as palpable as the sweat that began to stain my shirt.

Zombies in Winter

fiction by Naomi Kritzer

25 November 2016

The zombies weren’t supernaturally strong and they died just like anyone else if you shot them, and in Minnesota, where I lived, they mostly froze to death. Because it was January, and the ability to check a weather report and bring a coat is apparently a higher brain function.

Playing Prometheus

fiction by Frances Rowat

18 November 2016

I’d told Diana I was giving up and cried on her shoulder and she’d held me and told me she was so sorry. Mo would have done the same, except she would have been angry for me too. Sometimes that’s just too exhausting.

The Sound of His Voice

fiction by William Jablonsky

11 November 2016

As Naomi stands in her kitchen, a hypodermic needle in her right hand, a bowl of Cheerios in her left, she wants very much to close her eyes, just for a few seconds.

Art's Chair

fiction by H.L. Fullerton

4 November 2016

Art went out for beer and came back with a vintage Barcalounger. It was a wingback rattan recliner (spray painted gold) with orange Hawaiian print cushions (an obvious reupholstery.)

Loyal Son

fiction by Thomas Broderick

28 October 2016

My life complete, I write these words on the walls of your shrine. My ink is the burned ash of whatever material I can find. If I had blood, father, I would use that instead. When I die this evening, the desert will intrude once more, and we will be buried together.

Becoming

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.

Mayastray

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.

BLU3RD

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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