by Josephina Hu
“A girl,” I read aloud, “found herself in a strange room, where the ceiling was sky and the walls open air. In the center of the room stood a lone mountain, and its solemn shadow obstructed all to her left. On the right was a forest of flowering trees, and among them, in the distance, an apparition. The girl decided to venture into the forest.” Continue reading
by Bethany Bruno
The first thing my mother left me was a jar. Wide-mouthed, Mason glass, cloudy at the rim. She pressed it into my hands the morning she stopped speaking. Her lips moved like pale paper fluttering in the wind.
“Keep it closed,” she mouthed. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Nicholas Claro
Years ago, when my father was still alive, I watched him put a cigar out on a kid’s cheek.
I say “kid,” but he was probably closer to twenty than twelve. That made him adult enough.
“He was acting like a dumbass kid,” my father told me later. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Anastasia Campbell
The light dances in these streets, bounces from building to building. Loud Moroccan sun, loud even in December, has been beating on this intersection like on a drum, and is now leaving. Pedestrians are picking up their pace; cars look as if they hiccup while attempting to move. The whole town of Tangier is just like this light; it is just like the sea it abuts –after a day of escapade it looks for a flat surface to retreat to. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Allison Whittenberg
We had eggs. Eggs and bacon, too. But Dad wanted an Egg McMuffin—with sausage. And we didn’t have sausage, and we didn’t know how to make it taste like McDonald’s. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 