Casey Plett he night Wendy’s Oma died, she had sex dreams. Only sometimes did she have sex dreams—usually Wendy had nightmares and usually she was being chased or hurt. But this morning in her dreams when her Oma died, a girl was fucking her over an old television in an abandoned...
Jasper Sanchez You’re in an art store, halfway down the paint aisle. You’re thumbing tubes of acrylic, the aluminum casing cold against your skin. You’ve got iridescent gold in one fist, and you’re debating the merits of five shades of blue with your free hand. What’s the...
Li Charmaine Anne he movers had long left the new neighbours’ house, and for the last few days, silence had rushed into the space they’d carved out. Grace could hear the birds gain. Listening, she lay beneath her bedroom window in a pool of sunlight while the window’s slats beamed a...
Nikki Donadio t was a girl who collapsed on the soccer field. Girl, I kept calling her, with her pink headband and red soccer uniform. Dead at thirty-seven, and wheeled into my emergency room with green grass stuck to her cleats. Thirty-seven, the same age as me. Me and Dr. Yip found her...
Nick Comilla his is what it’s like: I never know what day of the week it is. I get so down I drift through and feel up. We get so high we forget it wears off. The clothes are tight to our skin like tattoos, but they slip off effortlessly. Our wrists have been stamped so many times...
Carly Rosalie Vandergriendt The Gardener Below, leaves rustle and swish. The sound reminds me of an ocean, makes me crave a body of water that’s not a city pool packed with bobbing children. It takes looking at a map to realize Montréal is an island. Pinning my phone to my shoulder, I...
