My parents own The Bloody Pub. I know you’ve seen it—it’s in that crummy strip mall on the road between the police station and the old furniture warehouse, about two miles from the beach. The Pub takes up a double lot all the way at the end, next to the pizza place that Dad thinks is a front for the Mafia. The Pub looks pretty normal from the outside, with band flyers plastered to the window and the sign done up in fancy Celtic lettering. Continue reading Fiction | The Bloody Pub: Part 1 by Alanna Smith
Darcy brushed her little sister’s hair until it shone like copper. She dressed Ella in their nicest clothes before letting her retrieve three cloaks from the closet.
Twice a year, Darcy unfolded the cloaks, smoothed out their wrinkles, and dabbed them with perfume. It was a ritual she couldn’t avoid.
Continue reading Flash Fiction | Summer Solstice by Alyssa Jordan
On the morning of November 9th, 2016, I cried for twenty minutes in the shower. Then I dried myself off, put on my plaid maroon uniform, and went to my all-girls, Catholic school in Missouri, where my classmates wore Make America Great Again hats, blared car horns in delight in the parking lot, and sprayed silly string throughout the halls. By second period, I was in the bathroom crying again. Continue reading Nonfiction | A Man’s World: An Exploration of Modern Feminist Dystopians by Ana Hein
I fiddle with the small piece of paper that holds my call number, rolling it and unrolling it and rolling it back up again. I have no idea what’s going to happen once these numbers thunder over the intercom.
There’s a clown on my left. He’s holding a deflated balloon animal. It used to be a dog, I think. On my right, there’s a sleeping ventriloquist with a one-armed dummy. The dummy turns its head to look at me.
“What are you looking at, lady?”
Continue reading Flash Fiction | The Assignment by Stephanie Lennon
After his insistence in expanding the pod, again, Herman brought Alice over on Saturday night to the abode that he shared with Olga and Elaine. Their home was rather plain—a jaggedly obtuse rock that jutted out of the foamy sea. It was coated in bird dung. Flies buzzed along the surface. There was barely enough room for the four of them. But the sea was roomy. There wasn’t a mermaid or merman alive who could argue that. Plus, it was a warm rock and the perfect spot for dolphin watching. Continue reading Fiction | The Merpod by Bradley Sides