The Death of Harold Cassidy Colton Huelle __________ In the days following Harold Cassidy’s death, Joy’s Facebook feed was clogged with lengthy tributes to the late novelist and links to even lengthier blog posts about his contribution to American literature. Writers and critics of all stripes crawled out of the…
Read MoreSilhouette of a Girlhood Meghana Mysore __________ Lakshmi winced when she heard a thudding from upstairs. The kettle was on for chai, and its whistle grew from a tame whisper to a high-pitched scream. She turned off the kettle and ran upstairs to the bathroom where Mamatha took her showers.…
Read MoreOlympians Kent Kosack __________ The kick becomes a glide in a graceful shuffle as Jon’s skis cruise along the cross-country trails carved into the ice-crusted snow of Lapland Lake, his body cruising with them, his thoughts and fears and hopes and memories cruising too, concurrent, behind, ahead, the same groomed…
Read MoreKeep Times Good (Or the League to Save the Good Times) Joe Farley __________ Rex liked to have a good time. Rex liked to ensure everyone else was having a good time. Rex liked to keep times good. He played the towns centennial party. He played the townie bars, the…
Read MoreThe Boyfriend Ben Selesnick __________ The dining room was one of the larger rooms in Noah’s Atlantic-facing colonial. It had a vaulted ceiling, a glassed-encased display at one end of the cedar-cut table that held a collection of plaques and trophies he’d accrued over the past decade working as the…
Read MoreOver the Edge Rebecca L. Monroe __________ “You ready?” He looked up, tightening his harness, helmet in place. He was slim, tanned with blonde hair bleached by the summer sun. He was a poster picture for an outdoors man. “Yes.” Alice replied, breath short as she finished adjusting…
Read MoreTwo Lone Voices Aubrey Lozano-Cofield __________ It’s the rain after five years of drought in Texas. The water stitches up the cracked earth and I don’t want to disturb it. I want it to know it’s welcome, that the South is thirsty. “Can you taste the salt?!” she asks me,…
Read MoreHIGHWAY 111 Mathieu Cailler __________ Even at 11:59 p.m., the heat still owned Palm Springs. Emile’s shift had started a couple of hours earlier, and he sat in his taxicab, munching on some stale donut holes, waiting for dispatch to inform him of his next pick-up. He tinkered with…
Read MoreWe never really lived there. We were just occupants. Not much more than squatters, but I detest that word, as it implies destitution, squalor, and illegality. No, there was nothing sinister or nefarious behind our status. We were in transition; our stay was temporary.
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