by Liz Kay
Image: Lita

I’d had my wish and I’d blown it out all over the cake.

But I still had the blue bucket. By the door next to the coats and shoes. It was bought by the seaside in the days when we used to play.

Last year Kevin rescued it from the garden, emptied it of frogs and filled it with dreams on sorry bits of paper wrapped up tight. Gel penned goals: see the northern lights and learn the ukulele. Write a novel and compile a facebook page of rainbows. I’d done the last one, had 1267 followers and counted 336 likes on my best picture so far. Continue Reading →

by Greg Burkholder
Image: Tom Moore

I remember laying in bed surrounded by buffalo. They licked my face, their tongues like wet sandpaper. The buffalo would impatiently nudge my hand until I flung my blanket off and trampled through my room with them. The carpet swayed like prairie grass and the walls stretched for miles. Time to infinity. I led the stampede through the endless plains of my room, as fleas danced jigs on the buffaloes backs and I laughed at them for being so dirty and they’d retaliate by kicking carpet dust into my eyes. I’d rub it off with the hem of my sleeve but it never all went away.
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by Dan Ayres
Image: Ana Thompson

The retirement home for viral animals is a bleak place, as you might expect. We’re a bunch of washed up critters, faded stars with nowhere to go. But don’t render us redundant just yet, good viewer. We may still surprise you, like we did before. Continue Reading →

by Emily Boswell
Image: Isabell Rock

Melinda could already taste the delicious red cherry slushy on her tongue – already feel the cool crushed ice running down her throat. She had been craving it all day. The sun beat down, hot on her face. Literally beating me, she thought. Looking up at the fiery mass, Melinda imagined golden fists coming down and bashing her in the face, burning her cheeks. Her maroon tights stuck to her sweaty thighs, her flowery yellow dress clung to her stomach and chest. The shade of the trees that lined the narrow road offered no comfort. Continue Reading →

by Kelsey Kimbler
Image: Jane Flett

As you look at Emily, the hunk of slimy meat that used to be Emily, while she lies in her coffin, I understand if you want to speculate about what happened to her. We, as her family, would prefer if you didn’t. It’s upsetting to us. She was so young, don’t you see? Now she’s gone. She’s gone forever and all we’re left with is the memory of her broken, twisted body. When her parents look back on her, this, this right here is what they’ll remember. You want us to sit here, at her goddamned funeral, and talk about how she died? How dare you. Continue Reading →