by Randall Brown | Feb 21, 2014
She found herself locked inside her parents’ hotel room, the doorknob and lock like everything else these days, busted, beyond repair. Soon they’d show up. Would the door open for them? She’d already found her suitcase, had removed the pot. She’d driven from...
by J.A. Tyler | Feb 13, 2014
We know these streets. We know the houses, the bicycles. We know the rain covered cars parked up and down the wet asphalt. And we know the house up the street, empty for a long time, a family leaving it there to sell when it could be sold, because the rain was too...
by Lance Larsen | Jan 29, 2014
One minute I’m trying to take care of a dry spot at the side of the house, the next I’m staring at fallen hands. Not maple leaves, mind you—hands. I dropped the hose and felt the morning, and all its promises, empty straight through me. Just regular hands,...
by Alireza Taheri Araghi | Jan 6, 2014
The war goes on. It seems endless. But it should end some day, because everything ends some day. And this war is something. And something is included in everything. There is something in everything. She opened the door a crack. “The war will end,” I said....
by Patrick Bahls | Dec 19, 2013
Harada would not look beyond the kitchen’s pass once Takahashi’s presence in the small restaurant had been announced. The chef’s typically quiet manner turned more quiet still as he bent closely over his knife. His sous-chefs danced around him with pots of hot water...
by Suzanne McNear | Dec 11, 2013
She is up against the wall in the kitchen, pushed against the world’s smallest refrigerator, one hand on the world’s smallest oven, bright hot red. She is saying something. What is she saying? The apartment is crowded. Who are these people. All these people. She is...
