What Was That One? // Raymond Arcangel

fiction

“He closed his eyes and prayed to her, vowing not to forget. But

even as he spoke the words in his mind, he could feel the pain

lessening. He jumped up, as if the action could halt it. It was like

killing her over again, letting her recede. He brought her face to

mind, her laugh, her naked body under his. The remoteness

wouldn't stop, spreading in him like poison gas. . .”

We Deserve Better // Matan Gold

fiction

“But before Dora can reach her, an SUV pulls up before the black

girl. From its doors spill a celebrity and her people. They are

trendy, hip, and thriving, dressed in all sorts of summer-festival

pastiche. They are high and careless from a night of cigarettes and

social media. There is a bindi on the celebrity’s forehead; there is

Sanskrit on her neck. She dances with pouted lips towards the

sitting girl. . .”

Timothy Finnegan // Ann Stoney

fiction

“It was just so make believe and I didn’t want make believe, I

wanted reality. I wanted someone to hit me in the nose. I don’t

know why I was like that, I just was. A bit precocious, Mother was

fond of saying. . .”

A Different Kind of Love // Wendy Brown-Báez

nonfiction

“In the photographs taken that day, the unmistakable look of love

shimmers on our faces. He slipped a ring on my finger that I had

bought for six dollars, a simple silver ring with a malachite stone,

and I slipped onto his finger the embossed silver ring we had

chosen. But also in those photos, I am standing in the shadows

while Alejandro stands in the sunlight, a fitting parable for our

relationship. . .”

Pieces of Her // Jennifer Fliss

fiction

“Pink mildew colored the grout in places and determined water

droplets clung to the tiles as if for life, refusing to fall. There were

other designs too – abstract flowers made of her pulled locks—

maybe roses, maybe hydrangeas in their angry beautiful balls. . .”

The Mouse // Aholaah Arzah

nonfiction

“If even while you live well within the city proper, you deliberately

dwell apart from its civilities in your rustic cabin near a lagoon

surrounded by blackberry brambles where raccoons keep condos

and coyotes sing, and you refuse to mow the section allotted to

you as your lawn, it is, I suppose, reasonable that field mice will

eventually make their way through the tangles of long grasses and

into your home. . .”

Mister, Your Shoelace is Untied // Frances Park

nonfiction

“My mom was making iced coffee while my dad was washing a dark

blue Ford, their first major purchase; the two were lighting up

Camel cigarettes and going to Saturday night barbeques. I can see

them, I can hear them blending in—my mom barely spoke a word

of English, but laughter sounds the same in every language. . .”

Yellow Roses for Samantha // Leonard Seet

fiction

“The first shower after Samantha’s death. Relearn the ritual:

rubbing on the soap, rinsing away the lather, drying with the towel.

The next day, the first Halloween without Samantha, she’d have to

relearn eating breakfast, commuting to work and going to the gym.

Samantha’s death was an end and a beginning. . .”