Tag: '27

The Buyer

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

the way home

SERIN HWANG

The woods behind my old high school burned down the winter after my senior year.
They were gone within a day, leaving behind only the ash that settled on my car and the smoke that dimmed the sky, turning the sun a blazing orange. I was home from college at the time, abandoning crisp New England autumn for a dull West Coast winter, snowless but mildly chilly, until it wasn’t. California was still burning when I got back on the plane….Continue Reading the way home

The Pimple

OLIVIA TENANT
I’m getting ready for another night out, painting my face thick with concealer and foundation, over-powdering my face, and dousing my cheeks in golden glitter and pink blush. I’m using one of those mirrors with the perfect lighting which is supposed to help me apply my makeup perfectly, but it distracts me instead….Continue Reading The Pimple

Half Baked, Fully Burned

IZZY BAIRD
It was the night of our last party. Your parents didn’t care to see you graduate and your lease ended that Monday, so Friday night was the last time we piled into that one bedroom apartment. May’s heat felt like July and your AC was busted, so we panted like dogs while sitting around your TV, huddled in the smell of our sweat and cigarettes. …Continue Reading Half Baked, Fully Burned

고향 (gohyang)

HANNAH KWON
From above the bridge, you see half-frozen streams and hear the rush of water pulsating beneath layers of ice. And as if in immediate response, your body hums alive, blood rushing to your numb fingertips, the static-like buzz a reminder of how fragile the flesh you blanket over the thing that lurks inside of you actually is. …Continue Reading 고향 (gohyang)

Specks of Dirt

MARIAM BESHIDZE
She walked in and the smell of fresh grapefruits and magnolias walked in with her. Her head was bent: an overripe fruit hanging from a young tree branch. Her eyes searched the mosaic tiles of the floor. She seemed to look for an ancient map hidden in the crevices, but instead her eyes bore into the neatly accumulated specks of dirt…Continue Reading Specks of Dirt

Turnabout

MIKE ROSENTHAL
For all it was his idea, the old man carried less of the body’s weight than me. We stumbled across sprawls of uneven roots and underbrush snares with it dragging between us. The creepers and ivy of the Forevergreen hung a few feet off the ground, neck level for six-foot bipeds. And there was only one animal like that in the region….Continue Reading Turnabout

Untitled

OLIVIA LAW
Somewhere at 7:43 on a Sunday morning, two girls have collapsed into a web of limbs on a twin sized bed. Their wrists, each marked with a college grade stick-and-poke pine tree, press against each other….Continue Reading Untitled

Devour

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

konbini 

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 

mandarin

ELLA LIN
and she peels me / another mandarin. i imagine / we must look strange, / our mouths dripping juice like broken faucets / into the night. her black hair / falling further, with nothing below. the broken mirror hanging / above wet paint on bathroom walls….Continue Reading mandarin

Orange Me Open

ELSA LYONS
Does the orange want to be peeled? Tenderly / I push my fingernail through her stubborn rind, // reveal the bulge of her white-veined flesh. / She’s almost throbbing with juices. They’re almost // circulating through her. It’s almost music….Continue Reading Orange Me Open

Lunch-Box Note

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

Untitled 

MARIAM BESHIDZE
When does a body become a thing? / When it stares from beyond the glass  / At the conglomeration of people surrounding it, / Shedding tears on a Persian carpet. / When it cannot smell the patchwork / of dead flowers laying on top of it. …Continue Reading Untitled