Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Amara’s eyes were closed as she listened to the ever constant sound of the clock. Tick.…
Blog
The Last Day of November | Grace Hovda
please excuse my absence on the last day of november i’m not sick, not on the road, not out of…
The Leaves Change Color | Haley Newland
the long days grew to long nights summer sun turned to autumn wind worn out t-shirts became well loved sweaters…
Familiar | Andrew Smedley
There’s a knock on the door. The man raises his head in suspicion, rubbing the drowsiness out of his eyes. …
Does light carry images? | Dani Cruciani
I invented the James Webb telescope, so you can imagine my surprise when I learned that NASA built it without…
Mountain Pass | Dustin Masker
At the top the trees were like grass, and all things felled were imperceptible. The first step took a lifetime…
At Summer’s Crest | Amber Hashmi
at summer’s crest the sun beats down on its treasury: the flowers in zeal and the flesh of fruit that…
How to grow out your hair, and then cut it all of yourself | Lauren Reitzel
How To Play the Victim How to grow out your hair, and then cut it all of yourself
Her summer in Africa | Krystal Koski
There’s an effortless beauty that surrounds those that sleep; when their face muscles relax and they have no concern for…
Fawning for Flora | Madi Altman
My human form has not felt quite right lately; a floral form feels a better fit. I stare at my…
Writer To Writer Literary Journal 