Elinam Agbo

Elinam Agbo - 1983

Elinam Agbo was born in Ghana and moved to the United States when she was ten. She has since lived… Read more »
R.M. Cooper
Border Patrol

R.M. Cooper - Border Patrol

R.M. Cooper’s writing has appeared in dozens of publications, including Adroit, Best American Experimental Writing, Cream City Review, Denver Quarterly,… Read more »
Dorene O’Brien
Eight Blind Dates Later

Dorene O’Brien - Eight Blind Dates Later

“Eight Blind Dates Later” appears in Dorene O’Brien’s second fiction collection, What It Might Feel Like to Hope, which will… Read more »
A. Muia
Las Salinas

A. Muia - Las Salinas

A. Muia lives in Skagit Valley, Washington. “Las Salinas” is part of a novel-in-stories set in Baja California, Mexico. Other… Read more »
Dustin M. Hoffman
Snake in a Can

Dustin M. Hoffman - Snake in a Can

Dustin M. Hoffman is the author of the story collection One-Hundred-Knuckled Fist, winner of the 2015 Prairie Schooner Book Prize.… Read more »
Ross Wilcox

Ross Wilcox - Symptoms

Ross Wilcox is originally from South Dakota. His stories have appeared in The Carolina Quarterly, Beloit Fiction Journal, Nashville Review,… Read more »
T. Lucas Earle

T. Lucas Earle - Trade

T. Lucas Earle is a writer, filmmaker, and musician. His fiction has appeared in Electric Spec, Colored Lens, Razor Literary… Read more »


T. Lucas Earle

Punched a Salty Boy in the mouth, got chompers buried in my knuckles. Don’t bother me none, now I chew my enemies with punches.

I take heads back to clan office where they tell me I’m shit. Dirt in the treads of a virus. They tell me I’m leftovers. Spit out by bear. But I know my notches. Nine heads. That’s enough to get traded. I know when the gray brothers whisper. They know my name. Tusu the Hydra. I got nine heads. Bag ‘em and count ‘em. They call me dirt because we all dirt. But I’m dirt that gets traded.

Little Jorma takes patrol with me. He’s a shadow yet, not a head to his name. But he’s fit enough to keep up. We check for viruses. Salty Boys who don’t got their clan mark. We watch for the mark. Back of the head. No mark. Lose the head. If they got the mark, we call for password. No password, lose the head. Goes in the bag. Back to clan office. Nother notch.

Simple work. Clarity.

Sometimes, we spot spice patrols on the other side of the gap, leaping between the relics. I tell little… Read more »