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  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    My name is Suzanne and I live in Ilium, New York, and my family works at a paper mill. Everyone in Ilium works at the very same paper mill, and each morning goes like this: I don my fedora, and my parents don their book bags. They have no use for their bookbags; likewise, I have no use for a fed...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    i. Numbers & Letters There is no way to capture a thought with all its intricacies, pushed to the sides by surrounding stimuli. This is why when they kiss, they only do so at intersections, traffic — a burgeoning monster with its gaping maw and gasoline breath. The light is seconds away fro...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    My cinematic education came in a series of bell rings. Each bell ring meant that an angel’s fries were falling out of heaven. Of course, there was a multitude of unhappy, hungry angels up there, waiting for us rowdy kids to quiet down. When the delicate peal of the bell finally stopped thou...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    i. Samantha thinks of himself as Sammy and screams at pretty purple dresses. Rob prefers to be called Robert, because it sounds more grown up. All his classmates laugh at him. Inside his backpack is his briefcase. Inside his briefcase is his lunch — peanut butter and jelly, a Capri-Sun juice...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    God is in the air that is pumped through his lungs, someone shouting “Breathe, goddammit, breathe.” He would refuse, if he could speak, on two conditions: filtering air and water through gills was more his thing, and wasn’t the whole paramedic // oxygen tank // taking the lord’s name in vain...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    parental advisory: explicit content stickers, because life is explicit too — I suppose they’ve just forgotten: Little boys off to war, in their father’s name, with boxers, not briefs in their suitcases Little girls and blood in the toilet, tears in the toilet —...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    <love> <center> screaming & kicking <center> <h1> i think i love you </h1> <small> but i’m not sure </small> <p style=”color:red ; font-size:100 px”> What do you mean, ‘we’re over’? </p> <mark> I’m ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Molly has nice knees. Jesus has nice knees. Molly must be Jesus then, and this somehow makes sense. It also accounts for the fact that Molly has a deep voice for a girl, but that just might be from the cigarettes. But Molly is Jesus, and Jesus is slowly soaking away in my bathtub, picking at the ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    god you're cold, god you're the rocks, the pits, the way my heart is smashed to pieces by your waves & crests & successive cycles: baby, i can't tell the difference between your frequencies and your wavelengths, i just know that your moods exist, i just know they're destroying my heart. you're...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    birthday cake — keeping it all down little cousins, little beasts more like with beady eyes and vicious smiles the waist of your jeans, more buttons, tighter and tighter your selfish heart, criminal minds with your rotten brain swallowing, smiling, swearing — all cheerfully mind you! throw...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Exhaling smoke and gas giants in the hopes of learning something about life is part of the reign of terror, the generational gap our parents are nothing more than placeholders for dollars and cents while we lose our senses puffing away behind the back walls of schools and stuffing ourselve...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    (so this is how it is) emotions are electrons, electrons are criminals dashing away from their cell — trying to make their bid for freedom. are you trying to be free of me? i’ve certainly tried to be. your emotions are flying at velocities that i could never discern, could never imagin...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    this is how you build a house. find land, claim a stake in it ­­– no matter if someone else is already living there. chop down all visible greenery, then section off a designated quadrant, this will be the lawn. (fight, build) with tooth and nail blood red splattering wood and brick...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    so they kissed. so what? salvation is found between her thighs, because they are pretty pink (like blushing roses about to wither in the cold) salvation is not between her thighs, because that would be wrong (out of wedlock, out of hatred, out of need, out of the church’s graces) salvati...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    she’s the kind of girl you find: legs dangling over a ledge so tall, it calls itself pretentious ‘cause it towers over the rest of us i think that she’s beautiful, not ‘cause she’s out there or alive (she’s not trying to die - just finding something ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Elaine was a elementary school teacher, obsessed with lists and words. Sometimes, she’d sneak one or two SAT words onto spelling quizzes or definition quizzes, just as a bonus. The kids, bless their pure little hearts, never got the bonuses right. Maybe that’s what earned Elaine the reputation a...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    we’re always playing [chess] this is a game where the pieces are liable to break down, confront their past, kill themselves - blood staining the purely black and white view that only the squares can hold. this is a game where the pieces are liable to rebel against authority, and kni...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    They were dying to the tune of Mexican music, along with the hum of a great and mighty machine. She could see them in his eyes, tiny silhouettes in the darkened corners of his pupils. Brown, mercy brown eyes that slowly became darkness itself, a frozen lake of cold fury buried in the center. The ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    tea me, king me – this is, after all a game of checkers we are playing here. simple, yet understated with more thoughts than could ever be spoken in one move. i lift up my tea cup and watch the muddy liquid spill over, burning my hand. pawn me, play me. pawn me off as you're lacking ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Am I conscious? If so, I love you. I’m never conscious. I never loved you. Sometimes I lie in the shaky grey area, in the intersection between alive and dead. We were made for the movies, to be watched by an invisible audience who judges our every move. I know how I look on screen - running...

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