Stephanie Dickinson
Big-Headed Anna at the Ice Cream Social

Stephanie Dickinson - Big-Headed Anna at the Ice Cream Social

Fiction
Stephanie Dickinson is an Iowa native who lives in New York City’s East Village. Her novel Half Girl and novella… Read more »
Zana Previti
Caedra

Zana Previti - Caedra

Fiction
Zana Previti was born and raised in New England. She earned her MFA in fiction from the University of California,… Read more »
Annie Reid
Last Song

Annie Reid - Last Song

Fiction
Annie Reid is a double expat American currently residing in Sweden after a decade in Canada. She writes apocalyptic video… Read more »
Gabe Herron
Mr. Kimberk's Kindness

Gabe Herron - Mr. Kimberk's Kindness

Fiction
Gabe Herron lives outside a small town near Portland, Oregon with his wife, son, and daughter. He’s had a winning… Read more »
Eliana Ramage
Mr. Longley’s Paper Suns

Eliana Ramage - Mr. Longley’s Paper Suns

Fiction
Eliana Ramage holds a BA and MA in creative writing from Dartmouth College and Bar-Ilan University, respectively. A proud Cherokee… Read more »
Venita Blackburn
Ways to Mourn an Asshole

Venita Blackburn - Ways to Mourn an Asshole

Fiction
Venita Blackburn earned her MFA from Arizona State University in 2008. Her stories have appeared in Pleiades, Madison Review, Bat… Read more »

Last Song

Annie Reid

Something rolled in the trunk as Leonard pulled the Mustang onto the gravel shoulder, knocked heavy against the back seats; a deft, quick thud. An elbow, perhaps, a knee. The police car pulled in right behind him, close, the flashing lights hammering the twilight. He closed his eyes, but those lights did not stop penetrating, sinking through the thin skin to his sight. Like salt in the membranes.

Hindsight being 20/20, it was a poor time to consider that he really ought to have tied the body up with some rope, might have at least weighed it down so it wouldn’t roll around, knocking into the tire iron, the briefcase, the steel lunch box, making so much noise. And of course there was the faint possibility—despite all that had occurred back at the little cottage over on Elm Street, despite the length and vigour of the discussion, despite its energetic conclusion— that Sprocket was still alive. Stranger things have happened in this wide world; far stranger things do indeed happen each and every day, and so it will continue, long after we are all good and gone.

The cop got out of his car. Leonard chose not to… Read more »