Flash My Fiction exhibit for First Light 2015

Bun

A bun

A steamed bun

A big, steamed pork bun

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched.

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth.

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. It knows

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows it costs only a dollar eighty

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty in the window.

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window.

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash, he bares teeth

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him.

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him. The woman behind the counter

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him. The woman behind the counter feels a twinge

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him. The woman behind the counter feels a twinge she cannot explain.

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him. The woman behind the counter feels a twinge she cannot explain. She brings the bun to the man

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him. The woman behind the counter feels a twinge she cannot explain. Wrapping it in crepe paper, she brings the bun out to the man

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him. The woman behind the counter feels a twinge she cannot explain. Wrapping it in crepe paper, she brings the bun out to the man, who instantly unwraps it

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him. The woman behind the counter feels a twinge she cannot explain. Wrapping it in paper, she brings the bun out to the man, who instantly unwraps it and bites into it.

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him. The woman behind the counter feels a twinge she cannot explain. Wrapping it in paper, she brings the bun out to the man, who instantly unwraps it and bites into it. The bun bursts

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him. The woman behind the counter feels a twinge she cannot explain. Wrapping it in paper, she brings the bun out to the man, who instantly unwraps it and bites into it. The bun bursts, oozing satisfaction.

Bun

A big, steamed, soft, pillowy pork bun sits in the warmer, white sides clenched, waiting for a matching set of teeth. Sticky and solid, it knows with pride and humility it costs only a dollar eighty. A man appears in the window. His pupils flash the warmer’s gleam, he bares the three pale teeth that life has left him. The woman behind the counter feels a twinge she cannot explain. Wrapping it in paper, she brings the bun out to the man, who instantly unwraps it and bites into it. The bun bursts, oozing satisfaction.

by Eliza Jerrett

Memento

I moved

The week I moved

The week I moved, I bought a wooden frog

The week I moved, I bought a blue wooden frog

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him on my dresser

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser.

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the window

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog.

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. It was important he didn’t chip.

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip.

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet.

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet. I set him on the new blonde dresser

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet. I took my time unpacking him, and set him on the new blonde dresser

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet. I took my time unpacking him, and set him on the new blonde dresser where I’d set

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet. I took my time unpacking him, and set him on the new blonde dresser where I’d set all the mirrors.

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet. I took my time unpacking him, and set him on the new blonde dresser where I’d set all the mirrors. He seems content to stay

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet. I took my time unpacking him, and set him on the new blonde dresser where I’d set all the mirrors. He seems content to stay, crouched

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet. I took my time unpacking him, and set him on the new blonde dresser where I’d set all the mirrors. He seems content to stay, crouched and resplendent

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet. I took my time unpacking him, and set him on the new blonde dresser where I’d set all the mirrors. He seems content to stay, crouched and resplendent, watching the tiny room

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet. I took my time unpacking him, and set him on the new blonde dresser where I’d set all the mirrors. He seems content to stay, crouched and resplendent, watching the tiny room with his wide white eyes.

Memento

The week I moved, I bought a bright blue wooden frog, and set him in a diagonal on my dresser. The wind bustled through the open window, knocked over empty boxes, but not the frog. When packing, I wrapped him in woolen socks. It was important he didn’t chip, though one would hardly know, with his intricate markings and strange, triangular feet. I took my time unpacking him, and set him on the new blonde dresser where I’d set all the mirrors. He seems content to stay, crouched and resplendent, watching the tiny room with his wide white eyes.

by Eliza Jerrett

Out of Season

Straining her threads,

The Christmas tablecloth peers through the cracked closet door. Straining her threads,

The Christmas tablecloth, creased unevenly from the weight of winter sweaters, peers through the cracked closet door. Straining her threads, she waits.

The Christmas tablecloth, creased unevenly from the weight of winter sweaters, peers through the cracked closet door. Sandals shuffle and clack by. Straining her threads, she waits.

The Christmas tablecloth, creased unevenly from the weight of winter sweaters, peers through the cracked closet door. Sandals shuffle and clack by. The unencumbered, muddy feet of children slap the laminate floor. Straining her threads, she waits.

The Christmas tablecloth, creased unevenly from the weight of winter sweaters, peers through the cracked closet door. Sandals shuffle and clack by. The unencumbered, muddy feet of children slap the laminate floor. Straining her threads, she waits for wet boots and wool socks.

The Christmas tablecloth, creased unevenly from the weight of winter sweaters, peers through the cracked closet door. Sandals shuffle and clack by. The unencumbered, muddy feet of children slap the laminate floor. Straining her threads, she waits for wet boots and wool socks.

by Abigail White

Out of Season

Neglect

A pair of sneakers waits.

A pair of sneakers waits on a neighboring porch rail.

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail.

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail, soles beginning to mold.

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail, damp soles beginning to mold.

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail, damp soles beginning to mold. They reminisce while tying and untying each other’s laces.

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail, damp soles beginning to mold. They reminisce about marathons while tying and untying each other’s laces to stay warm.

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail, damp soles beginning to mold. They reminisce about marathons while tying and untying each other’s laces to stay warm. “Has Rob forgotten?” the left sneaker asks one morning.

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail, damp soles beginning to mold. They reminisce about marathons while tying and untying each other’s laces to stay warm. “Has Rob forgotten us?” the left sneaker asks one morning after a bitter rain storm. “I’m afraid,” the right sneaker says, shivering,

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail, damp soles beginning to mold. Reminiscing about marathons, they tie and untie each other’s laces to stay warm. “Has Rob forgotten us?” the left sneaker asks one morning after a bitter rain storm. “I’m afraid he has,” the right sneaker says, shivering, curling her tongue.

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail, damp soles beginning to mold. Reminiscing about marathons, they tie and untie each other’s laces to stay warm. “Has Rob forgotten us?” the left sneaker asks one morning after a bitter rain storm. “I’m afraid he has,” the right sneaker says, shivering, curling her tongue. Rob shuffles out to take the Christmas lights down; his belly brushes the railing.

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail, damp soles beginning to mold. Reminiscing about marathons, they tie and untie each other’s laces to stay warm “Has Rob forgotten us?” the left sneaker asks one morning after a bitter rain storm. “I’m afraid he has,” the right sneaker says, shivering, curling her tongue. Rob shuffles out to take the Christmas lights down; reaching high, his plump belly brushes the railing.

Neglect

A pair of sneakers waits toe to toe on a neighboring porch rail, damp soles beginning to mold. Reminiscing about marathons, they tie and untie each other’s laces to stay warm “Has Rob forgotten us?” the left sneaker asks one morning after a bitter rain storm. “I’m afraid he has,” the right sneaker says, shivering, curling her tongue. Rob shuffles out to take the Christmas lights down; reaching high, his plump belly brushes the railing.

by Abigail White

Noise

Two roommates sit.

Two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones.

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones.

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” asks one.

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one roommate. The other shrugs.

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops.

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games.

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again.

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The sound

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The sound seems

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The sound seems to be coming

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The sound seems to be coming from the big

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner.

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The first roommate bounds to his feet, dropping his phone. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner. He strides

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The first roommate bounds to his feet, dropping his phone. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner. Swallowing terror, he strides to the corner, and rips

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The first roommate bounds to his feet, dropping his phone. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner. Swallowing terror, he strides to the corner, and rips the yellow creature from its perch. There

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The first roommate bounds to his feet, dropping his phone. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner. Swallowing terror, he strides to the corner, and rips the yellow creature from its perch. There, dusty

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The first roommate bounds to his feet, dropping his phone. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner. Swallowing terror, he strides to the corner, and rips the yellow creature from its perch. There, dusty from years

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The first roommate bounds to his feet, dropping his phone. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner. Swallowing terror, he strides to the corner, and rips the yellow creature from its perch. There, dusty from years of disuse

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The first roommate bounds to his feet, dropping his phone. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner. Swallowing terror, he strides to the corner, and rips the yellow creature from its perch. There, dusty from years of disuse, is a black

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The first roommate bounds to his feet, dropping his phone. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner. Swallowing terror, he strides to the corner, and rips the yellow creature from its perch. There, dusty from years of disuse, is a black landline

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The first roommate bounds to his feet, dropping his phone. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner. Swallowing terror, he strides to the corner, and rips the yellow creature from its perch. There, dusty from years of disuse, is a black landline telephone.

Noise

A loud noise rips the peace of an afternoon when two roommates sit, playing on their cell phones. “What was that?” says one. The other shrugs. The noise stops and they return to their games. A few seconds later, the noise starts again. The first roommate bounds to his feet, dropping his phone. The sound seems to be coming from the big, stuffed Pikachu in the corner. Swallowing terror, he strides to the corner, and rips the yellow creature from its perch. There, dusty from years of disuse, is a black landline telephone.

by Eliza Jerrett

The Things We Hide

Mom raps at the door.

Olly launches laundry. Mom raps at the door. The cat chews fallen leaves.

Olly launches laundry at the dogwood growing through a crack in his bedroom floor. Mom raps at the door. The cat chews fallen leaves.

Olly launches laundry at the dogwood growing through a crack in his bedroom floor. Dark, bare branches jut out. Mom raps at the door. The cat chews fallen leaves.

Olly launches laundry at the dogwood growing through a crack in his bedroom floor. Yesterday’s towel drapes the crown. Dark, bare branches jut out. Mom raps at the door. The cat chews fallen leaves.

Olly launches laundry at the dogwood growing through a crack in his bedroom floor. Yesterday’s towel drapes the top; a lacrosse jersey swallows a clump of leaves, sleeves trailing to the floor. Dark, bare branches jut out. Mom raps at the door. The cat chews fallen leaves,

Olly launches laundry at the dogwood growing through a crack in his bedroom floor. Yesterday’s towel drapes the crown; a lacrosse jersey swallows a clump of leaves, sleeves trailing to the floor. Dark, bare branches jut out. Mom raps at the door. The cat chews fallen leaves, claws the stunted trunk.

Olly launches laundry at the dogwood growing through a crack in his bedroom floor. Yesterday’s towel drapes the crown; a lacrosse jersey swallows a clump of leaves, sleeves trailing to the floor. Dark, bare branches jut out. Mom raps at the door. The cat chews fallen leaves, claws the stunted trunk, and luxuriates in a yowl.

Olly launches laundry at the dogwood growing through a crack in his bedroom floor. Yesterday’s towel drapes the crown; a lacrosse jersey swallows a clump of leaves, sleeves trailing to the floor. Dark, bare branches jut out. Mom raps at the door. The cat chews fallen leaves, claws the stunted trunk, and luxuriates in a yowl.

The Things We Hide

by Abigail White

Bon Vivant

lost teeth

lost teeth trail along the counter

Garlic cloves, like lost teeth, trail along the counter where the corkscrew lies.

Garlic cloves, like lost teeth, trail along the counter where the corkscrew lies. Yesterday’s balsamic reduction, cold on the stove, fills Ian’s nose.

Garlic cloves, like lost teeth, trail along the counter where the corkscrew lies. Yesterday’s balsamic reduction, cold on the stove, fills Ian’s nose. A pop. A prick.

Garlic cloves, like lost teeth, trail along the counter where the corkscrew lies. Yesterday’s balsamic reduction, cold on the stove, fills Ian’s nose. The corkscrew gleams a twisted smile. A pop. A prick.

Garlic cloves, like lost teeth, trail along the counter where the corkscrew lies. Yesterday’s balsamic reduction, cold on the stove, fills Ian’s nose. The corkscrew gleams a twisted smile as he skewers a bottle of Korbel. A pop. A prick.

Garlic cloves, like lost teeth, trail along the counter where the corkscrew lies. Yesterday’s balsamic reduction, cold on the stove, fills Ian’s nose. The corkscrew gleams a twisted smile as he skewers a bottle of Korbel. A pop. Fraying cork flesh clings to the silver spiral snags. A prick.

Garlic cloves, like lost teeth, trail along the counter where the corkscrew lies. Yesterday’s balsamic reduction, cold on the stove, fills Marie’s nose. The corkscrew gleams a twisted smile as she skewers a bottle of Korbel. A pop. Fraying cork flesh clings to the silver spiral snags. A prick. Handsome silver clatters to the floor.

Garlic cloves, like lost teeth, trail along the counter where the corkscrew lies. Yesterday’s balsamic reduction, cold on the stove, fills Marie’s nose. The corkscrew gleams a twisted smile as she skewers a bottle of Korbel. A pop. Fraying cork flesh clings to the silver spiral snags. A prick. Handsome silver clatters to the floor.

Bon Vivant

by Abigail White

I Ran

I ran.

I ran from you.

I ran from the way you failed.

I ran from the way you made me feel when I failed.

I ran because of the way you made me feel when I failed you.

I ran because I failed you.

I failed you.

I ran.

I Ran

I ran.

by Ryan McKell

Quiet Time

His hairy knuckles.

Between his hairy knuckles.

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles.

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see the weight of it

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see the weight of it, there

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see the weight of it, there on the edge

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see the weight of it, there on the edge of your couch, on the edge of your drink

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see the weight of it, there on the edge of your couch, on the edge of your drink. A dark,

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see the weight of it, there on the edge of your couch, on the edge of your drink. A dark, heavy sheet

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see the weight of it, there on the edge of your couch, on the edge of your drink. A dark, heavy sheet, pulled

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see the weight of it, there on the edge of your couch, on the edge of your drink. A dark, heavy sheet, pulled with a hiss

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see the weight of it, there on the edge of your couch, on the edge of your drink. A dark, heavy sheet, pulled with a hiss past your toes.

Quiet Time

A centipede, crossing a room, drags the silence with him, clutching its hem between his hairy knuckles. You suddenly see the weight of it, there on the edge of your couch, on the edge of your drink. A dark, heavy sheet, pulled with a hiss past your toes.

by Eliza Jerrett

Celebration

Two boys light firecrackers

Two teenage boys light firecrackers

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street,

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the way hot sauce shocks

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue.

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs skitter.

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter.

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter, cars swerve.

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly, burst.

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly. The boys have rigged the bursts to blow

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly. The boys have rigged the bursts to blow like Christmas lights

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly. The boys have rigged the bursts to blow like Christmas lights, one after another

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly. The boys have rigged the bursts to blow like Christmas lights, one after another, a long string of surprises.

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly. The boys have rigged the bursts to blow like Christmas lights, one after another, a long string of surprises. They tear around the corner

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly. The boys have rigged the bursts to blow like Christmas lights, one after another, a long string of surprises. They tear off around the corner, dressed alike

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly. The boys have rigged the bursts to blow like Christmas lights, one after another, a long string of surprises. They tear off around the corner, dressed alike, faces slick

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly. The boys have rigged the bursts to blow like Christmas lights, one after another, a long string of surprises. They tear off around the corner, all giggles, dressed alike, faces slick with identical grins, foamy

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly. The boys have rigged the bursts to blow like Christmas lights, one after another, a long string of surprises. They tear off around the corner, all giggles, dressed alike, faces slick with identical grins, foamy with invisibility.

Celebration

One June afternoon, two teenage boys light firecrackers in the street, shocking the gray day the way hot sauce shocks the tongue. Dogs and pedestrians skitter and shriek, cars swerve wildly. The boys have rigged the bursts to blow like Christmas lights, one after another, a long string of surprises. They tear off around the corner, all giggles, dressed alike, faces slick with identical grins, foamy with invisibility.

by Eliza Jerrett