Salt and Cement and Other Denials, by Sara Saab
Alexander on the East-Looking Face I feel her pheromones nearly always, flavouring the salt breeze. The waves daub at us and daub at us and we gleam wet in the … Continue reading →
Sui Generis, by Y.X. Acs
1. Natalie and Andrew Temple lived in a beige townhouse in the southwest corner of Green Estates, with a deep ravine snaking along the perimeter behind their property. 2. Though … Continue reading →
Manapolis, by Natalia Theodoridou
“Spleen felt like glass. Lung was molten stone, stomach was handfuls of sand, liver was wet cement. Intestines, whitewash. Heart, clay and dirt and straw. Blood was paint and … Continue reading →
Under Dead Marsh, by Julia August
SCENE 1. SILENCE. VOICE #1: To begin at the end: It is summer, searing sandstorm season on a night rusty-ripe with glass domes glacial under dead sands, the planet-walkers topsy-turvy … Continue reading →
The Spider Tapestries, by Mike Allen
The azure star spider injects ink when it bites, an umber venom that paints the veins if the skin has paled enough, that steeps the brain in a fire of … Continue reading →
Gallery, by Mathew Scaletta
Hi. Alright, so… Three loves. Three and only three, got it? Well, maybe four, if I count myself, but I suppose I wouldn’t be standing here, talking to you, about … Continue reading →
Song of the Krakenmaid, by JY Yang
The krakenmaid invaded Fennel’s dreams unasked. Deep in the treacherous REM landscape she appeared, sliding through her vast seawater tank, short silver hair waving like anemone fronds. Fennel watched the … Continue reading →
I Am Winter, by Robin Wyatt Dunn
I am winter’s coil, or anyway am set beneath it as I walk down Hunter’s Alley into the deep of Monrovia. I am a hunter too, so the name is … Continue reading →
Pillow-Talk of the Late Oneirocalypse, by Vajra Chandrasekera
—not how it started nor how it ended, but somewhere in the middle of the first week, I must have opened the door in my dreams and gone through it … Continue reading →
The Skinner of the Sky, by M. Bennardo
Scrape— Scrape— Lessig suddenly paled, the thick red wine swirling in the bowl of his goblet as his eyes darted to the open window, his ears vibrating horribly in the … Continue reading →