SARAH WU
He dreams of a little girl screaming. This is a constant dream. He is holding a needle….Continue Reading The End of the World
The End of the World

SARAH WU
He dreams of a little girl screaming. This is a constant dream. He is holding a needle….Continue Reading The End of the World
CAMILA MASSAKI GNOMES
I wonder if you know the pain of wishing as I do, of longing for the absurd. And it is foolish to ask. Perhaps you understand longing in a way that I never could.
Have I told you of the drive? …Continue Reading Evergreen
WILLOW DELP
Evergreens watch throughout the bitterest winters: unchanging, unsympathetic. The weather strikes down its peers: thick snow weighs down their branches until they sink, limping underneath the pressure, and eventually succumbing to white blankets of frost. …Continue Reading Elegy for the Evergreen
CLARA DANHOF
if you take a continent and replace it rock by rock, just one at a time until there’s not a single piece of original material left, is it really the same continent at all?…Continue Reading Dendrochronology of the Clam
CHELA CUNNINGHAM
i’ve been to the movies six billion times and kept every ticket. i’ve raged and written. lined up all my bodies and carefully selected who i wanted to be that night….Continue Reading Starchild 11:25
EDWYN CHOI
“Incredible,” the buyer answered, still looking up. If the plot of trees were a painting, he resembled a smear on the finished canvas, a sharp, dark smear. The wind was not blowing anymore. He felt a little warmer. …Continue Reading The Buyer
GABRIELA WEAVER
We hadn’t spoken a word – well, discernable word – for an hour. My fingertips filled the void of silence, grazing your skin, circling your collarbones. I rested in the crook of your neck, forehead pressed to your cheek. My eyes followed the lines I drew on your skin. I lifted my chin to trail kisses up your neck before meeting your gaze with my own. …Continue Reading Untitled
BRADY KIM
I visited my father’s house last week. I straightened the picture frames on his nightstand, the glass caked with so much grime and filth that you couldn’t even make out the picture. I swept the dust from the lonely halls, the wallpaper cracking and peeling at the top so it cast a shadow across the wall when you turned on the buzzing yellowish lights….Continue Reading Snapshots of Dust
DARBY REDMAN
I am surrounded by clumps of trees, barren and apathetic. We walked this path when we were young, the sun spotting through trees and bees bumbling along the flowers….Continue Reading Winter
ODESSA IKELS
Claire crouched in the cool wet sand, marveling at how the topwater surrounded the sides of her feet, small sandals abandoned behind her. The ocean roared in her left ear, cliffs invading her peripheral vision as she examined the place where the water meets the shore….Continue Reading Wash
KAREN LEE
This kind of day called for an intervention of sorts, or at the very least, a grand meeting at the town hall located in the heart of Lanternland, where all the lanterns would gather and take stock of the situation. …Continue Reading In This Litany, A Lost Lantern
BRIANNA ZHANG
It is baffling that these people garner millions of likes, considering how they spend twenty four hours like it’s nothing! Sleeping through a third of the day—unbelievable. Ten minutes of meditation? It took me one hour to complete university……Continue Reading Devour
OLIVIA TENNANT
Good cooking requires time and patience – neither of which my mother has. Born and raised by Chinese parents in New York, aggression, assertiveness, hostility, hard work, and short-temperedness are inherent personality traits built into her blood. My mother stops for nothing in order to achieve success. Except for in the kitchen. …Continue Reading Lunch-Box Note
MACKENZIE DUNSON
The last thing my mother made for me was an apple spice cake. She always took pride in it because of the expansive apple tree that was the luminary of our backyard. It has always been the most beautiful thing about our house. The branches reaching for the sky, leaves and breath filling my own lungs, its fruit filling my stomach, and its blossoms filling my mind….Continue Reading Spiced Apple Cake
By SARAH WU
I learned to be wrapped from a young age. Underneath a Christmas tree, I sat below their pine bottoms. Dangling lights brushed my forehead. Taught how presents should be dressed in lovely colors. Taught to be an object, paper wrapping hiding the curve of the natural body within…Continue Reading Christmas Gift
By MIKIKO SUGA
Every summer is a tradition of disappearing. There are times to be corporeal, and other times to dematerialize. It may simply be a matter of traversing impermanent boundaries, where one simply consumes what is in front of them. There is no need to contemplate too deeply, because something is always at risk of breaking if I do. …Continue Reading konbini
By TOBY ROSEWATER
Peeling floral wallpaper covers every corner of the senior center’s game room, wilting like an unfurling flower come springtime. The room holds five round tables, and every Sunday, the Austin senior card group fills every seat. …Continue Reading The Game Room
VENUMI GAMAGE
Ginger tea to cure a cold. Ginger tea with a heaping of honey to fix a sore throat…….Continue Reading Teatime
EVELYN CHI
阿公,jiă bà buāi? 你吃了沒?(Taiwanese and Mandarin for, “Have you eaten?” This is also a common greeting among friends and family members, since hospitality and food are an important part……Continue Reading “Dear A Gong”
WILLOW DELP
She is seventeen years old, and she has mastered the art of cruelty. She brings people close enough, lures them with her sweetness — her fair skin, her honeyed voice. She emanates not just a sort of radiance…Continue Reading Bite-Size
KATERYNA HAVRYSHCHUK
The oldest among them, Ryta lit the match. In a blink, gas swallowed the heat and burped out a blue holo around the burner. A piece of butter in the pan began to soften. A clump of honey, however, didn’t rush to lose shape.
…Continue Reading Honey Cake
VARSHA PALANIYANDY
When Malin threw open a trapdoor in a condemned warehouse’s floor and ordered Rani to get in, she wondered – again – how her life had gotten so covert in mere months….Continue Reading There Are Many Ways to Starve
KIDANE PAIK
Once upon a time there was a little girl named Red Cap. She lived with her mother and father in a little village on the edge of the Red Forest….Continue Reading Red Cap
CRAWFORD DAWSON
It was freshly Christmas Eve, about two hours into the newly born day. In my memory, it was snowing, but a piece of me now doubts that….Continue Reading A Christmas (Eve) Story
MERRICK LAWSON
There is clementine sticky on her fingers. False girl. See, there is a chicken on the stove, a breast that is not unlike her own, and the edges of her are fuzzed alloy like the brass samovar across the room….Continue Reading Citrus Chicken
ALEX WOMACK
My mind is hyperactive. My surroundings — a dull classroom, the homework on my desk, the suburban view from a passenger window — remain in my vision…Continue Reading Scene
CAMILA MASSAKI GOMES
Memory tastes of grape. I thought this as I lay in the bed of my attic room….Continue Reading It Tastes of Grape
PRISCILLA LEE
She opened her mouth and I knew her immediately, tiger-stripe highlights, grown-out gel nails…….Continue Reading MMM, NOT TOO SWEET
JORGE RODRIGUEZ JR
Did it rain last night? No, but it probably will today…
…Continue Reading It Will Rain
MIKE ROSENTHAL
06:43 AM: You clock in. Seventeen minutes early—very safe, but you should have done better…….Continue Reading A Late Night Snack