Stories
Fiction
She had felt to him like some floating spirit of who she used to be.
Fall Contest Winners
The strange man expected to be picked up by aliens during the eclipse.
Story of the Week
It seemed to her that they only ever touched each other in transient, sudden ways.
Story of the Week
His beauty comes from his power. I am as wary as I am drawn to it.
Poem of the Week
It is the night of whores and monsters, but without the killings.
Story of the Week
No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone.
Narrative Outloud
He twisted like a weasel in the sack, lashing backward with his fist.
Poem of the Week
A psychologist told me we can train our dreams. I practice each night.
N30B Winners
How do you beat a man who refuses to rise from a puddle of his own blood.
Poem of the Week
Let me remember there’s a door inside each flower.
Readers' Narratives
I was a Ronald Reagan in a generation of Woody Harrelsons.
Poem of the Week
Everyone has something lodged and jittering inside them.
Story of the Week
Definitely believe what you hear about the problems with painkillers.
Fiction
The first murder had been a half dozen years ago in a warmer city.
Poem of the Week
Exit the building. Say nothing to anyone. They did. And they didn’t.
Story of the Week
There lay before us a bag that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.
Spring Contest Winners
A dead body leaned sideways against a wall. Its eyes were open.
Story of the Week
References to and portrayals of hypocrisy, moral sloth, venery.
Narrative High School Writing Contest
I come home in the evenings to Mother scraping my scalp for God.
Poem of the Week
Ajax can answer all this killing only with the killing of himself.
Nonfiction
Buster’s reasons for looking after Marco weren’t entirely altruistic.
Nonfiction
Trump reminded me of the guys I grew up with on Long Island.
N30B Winners
The first rule of the house is that everything must be even stevens.
Story of the Week
They all pivoted to face us, tan mannequins on a conveyor belt.
First & Second Looks
The question of love was a dark hole into which Lucy swam daily.
Poetry
Slice a finger while opening a beer can, fizz the gin high in tumblers.
Story of the Week
He bound me to blind obedience, for which I’d shown a propensity.
Poem of the Week
We press closer to look at a picture: a handcuffed boy leaning toward us.
