David Leo Rice
“The Brothers Squimbop, Jim and Joe, plied their trade in the dusty American interior of the 2070s, which, following the logic that Y2K was the Zero Hour and it was all linear reversion from there, mapped almost perfectly onto the 1930s.” New fiction by David Leo Rice.
“I pick up the knife from the table. It’s heavy and beautiful. I look at my foot, imagine lines of red blood in shiny bubbles speaking to me, singing.” New fiction by Cezarija Abartis.
“Bars are often known by the names of bartenders who died thirty or forty years ago. The name over the door is always something nobody ever says.” New fiction by Kevin Spaide.
“the dark germ that all conclusivities draw from and preclude, brazen chapping-hand that wags and wanes with the splendid rot of oaks…” New work by Liby Hays.
“Tch-aron, Kh-aron, Sh-aron, spelled with a Ch- (like the largest of the five known moons of the dwarf planet Pluto, like the underworld ferryman of ancient Greek myth): I never knew how exactly to pronounce the name of the self-professed self-help guru I worked for, the year after I graduated from college.” New fiction by Alyssa Proujansky.
“Larry fell off the turnip truck wound up in a drain ditch with a plastic grocery sack tied over his head in a top knot.” New fiction by Alex Gregor.
“At night, the man with no face lifts his no face face. It is as if it is a raised up hand. As if to ask for help. There is no help in these woods.” New fiction by Peter Markus.
“We had a concrete deck. That spring I liked to sit out on it, drink about two beers, put on Bruce Hornsby and the Range, and try to look forward to getting older.” New fiction by Jack Christian.
Troy James Weaver
“A crashing of glass, the candles and lamps out of flame, a voice like a whisper coming at me from all angles, then a light at first dim then coming on brighter and brighter in the mirror.” New fiction by Troy James Weaver.
“Shit that was once flowers became shit again.” New fiction by Evelyn Hampton.