Category Archives: Fiction

Cold Majuro Snow

by Darren Dillman

Enni Bilimon, the last Marshallese survivor of the Castle Bravo nuclear test, steps off the chipped concrete porch and maneuvers around the papaya and pandanus trees and sees the children dancing on the beach of the lagoon, swirling with their arms spread out, mouths open, faces tilted toward the clouds, catching with their tongues the first cold flakes of snow in Majuro’s history, spinning and hopping on little black and brown feet and yelping and hollering with the boys shirtless and the girls wearing floral-patterned homemade dresses called guams and dancing because, to them, the snow is something to celebrate. Continue reading

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rodeo reprieve

by Collette Grace

My mother’s nightgowns are thick, heavy to the touch, swamping me when she leans down to kiss me goodnight. Well-loved fabric built to last the abuse of a thousand bedtimes, coated in the ghosts of her grandmother’s perfumes. Continue reading

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Folded Flag

by N.C. Miller

When Amelia Birch limped up to her late husband’s burial service wearing a walking cast and dragging a sledgehammer, the crowd gasped and the minister stopped preaching. She’d been in the car accident that killed her husband a week before – that much was known – but she was released from the hospital the same night and hadn’t been seen since. There’d been a lot of talk as to what happened and why she’d skipped the funeral. So, when she showed up at the cemetery, dressed for church but looking angry, she had everyone’s full attention. Continue reading

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The Roommate From Somewhere Else

by Zoran Ernjakovic

Brian’s new roommate arrived three weeks into the semester, dragging nothing but a small silver cube that hummed when you got too close.

“My name is Zyx,” he said, extending a hand that gripped just a beat too long. “Pronounced like ‘zicks.'”

He was clearly an alien. Continue reading

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Moonshine

by Neema Samawi 

I’ve thought a lot about the way I died. Flashes of it come back to me on nights like this, when jackets pile by the door and voices mingle with the delicate taps of wine bottles placed on countertops. Harvey, the host of tonight’s housewarming, hovers in the foyer and gives tours to new arrivals. His eyes shimmer behind fishbowl glasses, darting between the entrance and the guests collected inside. He shuffles from foot to foot, glances at his phone. The doorbell rings.

Two men appear in the doorway, one in a Ralph Lauren sweater, the other with Stegosaurus spikes for hair. “Should we take off our shoes?” Sweater Guy asks, and Harvey gently requests they do. Timberlands, loafers, and about ten pairs of white sneakers line the entrance. I follow them as they follow Harvey up to his bedroom. Continue reading

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