Stories

by Elly Jarvis
you know you should trust your first impressions. i never knew much about psychopaths before i loved my first italian. now i know plenty. Continue Reading →

by Sharon Mertins

Washing up liquid, tent, sneakers, movie soundtracks, beer…

I died last night. I have no recollection of the accident that killed me, if there actually was one, but I died. Of that I’m sure. Continue Reading →

by Françoise Cactus

Uh! I’m exhausted. My feet hurt. Off with the tight shoes. They didn’t use to pinch so much. Have my feet grown? Continue Reading →

by Göksu Kunak

“I should have made myself ready before starting. I should have put my make-up on to be prettier. I should have taken a rest, not keep scrolling down.” His thumb is addicted to a 1 Euro Iphone5. Continue Reading →

by Alexis Pauline Gumbs

a blogger compared them to the buckingham palace guards of old. but that wasn’t quite it. Continue Reading →

by Amanda Stevens

She had never noticed the gaslight lantern sitting on a small table in the foyer adjacent to the connecting sitting room. No, not that she had never noticed it, but she had taken it for granted, ignored it as people ignore their own heartbeat—just another tool expected to work. But this night she did notice the gaslight; the way it made creeping shadows jump up and down in the neighboring candlelit sitting room. Continue Reading →

by Amanda Mandala

We undressed and folded each layer neatly by the back of my mattress, which would soon become the front. She wore dark hair and a black Kung fu shirt and I wore light hair and a white tennis skirt. Neither of us practiced any of these sports. But hey, we looked like yin and yang today! And yesterday we did, too! Tomorrow I will leave you in an equally meaningful manner!
Continue Reading →

by Megan Crosbie

He bites off her face first (it’s best that way.) It’s oily, pock scarred and chewy. Her thick-framed glasses jar awkwardly in his throat. Despite smelling like coconut, her hair taste’s sadly plain. Continue Reading →

by Anna Keeler

My memories of Genesis always seemed so treacherous until we were sitting face to face. The years of bitterness and anger between us didn’t just vanish, it was as if they’d never existed in the first place. Her lips would curl in that pout that wasn’t quite a grin, the light would shine in her eyes, and the breath that always caught for me would involuntarily let itself stay paralyzed in her throat, reminding her that even though she was rid of me, I wasn’t out of her system just yet. Continue Reading →

by Zubaida Jamal

Every time a resident of the Jamal Building goes up the elevator the electricity in the whole building chokes for exactly ten seconds. It could be fixed, but it would need an electrician, two thousand dollars and someone to care. If the electricity goes off at night you can tell who’s out and who just came home from the sounds of their shoes going up the stairs. Continue Reading →