Kate Leary
Delivery Boy

Kate Leary - Delivery Boy

Kate Leary’s work has appeared in Word Riot, Harpur Palate, and Night Train, and she was a fiction editor of… Read more »
Robert Earle
How Chung’s Sister Got Her Name

Robert Earle - How Chung’s Sister Got Her Name

Robert Earle has published more than forty stories across the U.S. and Canada in journals such as Mississippi Review, The… Read more »
John Byrne
I’m Going To Let You Go, Okay?

John Byrne - I’m Going To Let You Go, Okay?

John Byrne is the founder and chairman of Raw Story, a political news website, and has previously written for The… Read more »
Matthew Neill Null
Natural Resources

Matthew Neill Null - Natural Resources

Matthew Neill Null is a writer from West Virginia and a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. His short fiction… Read more »
Margarite Landry
Out of Egypt

Margarite Landry - Out of Egypt

Margarite Landry’s short stories have appeared in Nimrod, Bellingham Review, Tampa Review, Provincetown Arts, 2012 Wordstock 10 Anthology (first prize),… Read more »
Brandon Davis Jennings

Brandon Davis Jennings - Spectres

Brandon Davis Jennings is an Iraq War veteran from West Virginia. He received his MFA in Fiction from Bowling Green… Read more »
Rachel Lyon
The Installation

Rachel Lyon - The Installation

Rachel Lyon received her MFA in creative writing at Indiana University and her BA at Princeton. She has been, among… Read more »
Emma Gabrielle Silverman
The Star of David

Emma Gabrielle Silverman - The Star of David

Emma Gabrielle Silverman lives in Ithaca, New York where she is a yoga instructor at Cornell University. She has previously… Read more »
Daniel O’Malley

Daniel O’Malley - Uncle

Daniel O’Malley grew up in Cedar Hill, Missouri, and currently lives in Huntington, West Virginia. His fiction has appeared in… Read more »

Out of Egypt

Margarite Landry

I would not tell you my sister’s story, except that I love her.

The phone calls that come in the middle of the night, because I live in California. Anne’s quiet voice on the other end of the phone, me knowing that her husband is asleep. Or waiting in the half light of the dawn almost coming. She speaks to me for hours. Ruthless, relentless to herself. And I not able to stop her. She is telling me, spinning it, the endless images. And I, watching the sun rise over San Diego, the ocean getting light, knowing she had sunk finally into some kind of exhaustion.


She tells me the first things. She was sitting with the child at her breast in the rocking chair, looking out the window at the tree that had kept her company during her pregnancy, the leaves of spring, then falling into green summer, then red with fall. The ancient plane tree that had marked her parturition like a clock. And now, with the tiny soul in her arms, breathing, not aware of the difference between him and her, resting, becoming used to breathing air, rather than the close fluids of… Read more »