Fiction

Category

He Was Beautiful by Ron Moore

When tragedy strikes we become sleuths. We reconstruct events to establish the belief that it should have been us, it could have been us, it was our fault or we caused their death somehow. The days pass into weeks, the weeks years until the memory fades and details dim.

Fiction: A Life Like This by Laura E. Smith

A new short story by Laura E. Smith

Must-read

Two Poems by Bill Ratner

They Send Me to the City to Stay with My Auntie I hang my jacket in the hallwayher apartment is oldmade from shoestring potatoesit smells...

 IF FREEDOM DIES by Alan Abrams

IF FREEDOM DIES What’s next for us, if freedom dies–For those of us, they smear as woken—must we wear their yoke of lies? They seal their...

Three Poems by Lesley Younge

Rock Paper Scissors Water. water to rub rock smooth water to rust scissors shutwater to dissolve paper into nothingnessthen return it to the cannibal trees waterwaterwaterwaterwaterwaterwater water to...