Mehzeb R. Chowdhury

Wareed’s ‘Aina’ ——————————————————– [This is a cached copy ofhttps:// www. [redacted] .com/arts/features/it-lives-it-breathes-it-is-me/story.php It is a snapshot of the page as it appeared when it was published. The current page could have changed in the meantime.] ——— Quark News * Exhibition Review * ‘[It] Lives. It Breathes. It Is Me.’ Sanam Sajna, Cultural Correspondent Posted: 19…

Bradley Sides

There Goes Them Ghost Children Dear Bonnie, I’m writing to ask you for your forgiveness. The truth is that I haven’t ever stopped thinking about you. How I failed you. What I let happen to you.  I’ve known what I’ve needed to do for a long time to get my words to you, but I’ve…

R.T. Ester

White Sedan Between Houston and the Dallas metro, commuters on Interstate 45 expect that they will spend ten minutes trying to get out of Midville. Some who recall the scenic stretch it once was might move slowly so they don’t miss the sign that pointed travelers to the old Buc ee’s just off the road….

Audrey T. Carroll

Domestic Spirits Leigha did not believe in signs. In fact, she believed in very little that she couldn’t see with her own two eyes; she knew how dangerous that kind of belief could be. Instead, she was certain that the middle-of-the-night advertisement for a self-help book was mere coincidence, the algorithm happening upon something potentially…

Sandra Gail Lambert

Split Thread White, neon light splatters over the windshield of the spacecraft. Although Jessica knows it can’t be called a windshield. There is no wind in space. Maybe there is. Earthbound, previously earthbound, Jessica is uncertain. Gayle43 reaches over and yanks on her harness until Jessica snaps tight against what should have been the co-pilot’s…

Thomas J. Crowe

Winter Woods 1 Jack Bowman was three days into his twelfth year on Earth when he decided he would go to the edge of the property, where the family farm met the aspen trees, and walk along the fence and see what was what, and maybe he’d build a snowman or make a snow angel,…

Maximilian Martini

The Clock Maker Will’s hands, pale and patchy, don’t shake. They open the dial face of a seven-foot, two-inch Grandfather Clock and reach inside to find the key and wind the arbor until the spring for the clock is half tight. They do the same for the spring that strikes the chimes and then they…

AJ Strosahl

DRAGGING THE SEA BEHIND HIM There is a whale in the Royale parking lot. Shoppers cluster around it like a flock descending onto a wire: keeping a respectful distance, squawking. There are actual birds too, arranged in a loose cyclone that pulses and shifts above. It is not overwhelmingly big, the whale; the length of…

Richard Thomas

Asking For Forgiveness We stand at the edge of the ancient forest, yellow blurry eyes weeping with sickness, as a cool breeze pushes through the leaves, the light flickering in the cabin, as the day starts to slip away. We are more than we were last month, double what was birthed last year, and none…