“On Mothers and Daughters” by Rowan Aubrey Sloane

    My mother grew up moving. The only place she has told me about is Dayton, Ohio. She grew up moving, orbiting Wright-Patterson Air Force base where her father, the colonel, was stationed off and on. She grew up orbiting, but people aren’t satellites, and she doesn’t bring up her past much. The only thing she has told me about her childhood was that she moved around, and one time when she was angry she tied her brother to a tree. I try to imagine this. My mother, who goes to church twice a week, who told me once … Continue reading “On Mothers and Daughters” by Rowan Aubrey Sloane

“IN A LITTLE ROOM WITHOUT WINDOWS” by JOE BONGIORNO

You, patriot. Yes you with sweaty hands on a smooth trigger. Do you appreciate the privilege of your position? The Bureau sends its regards. Right choices are rewarded in this world, don’t you know? We trust your Guantanamo-blue eyes to do the right thing. Where would we be without loyalty? As a family man, you must certainly understand. We’ve taken the liberty of blindfolding and binding Mohamed Doe to a chair. Rest assured he is guilty of something. We have statements from accomplices, witnesses, former maids and disgruntled lovers. They’ve testified directly to the Bureau. Give Mohammed Doe over here … Continue reading “IN A LITTLE ROOM WITHOUT WINDOWS” by JOE BONGIORNO

“The Place Where You Fell” by Lorraine Wilson

  This is the place where you fell. Your bright swords and old shields faltering. All your angers and all your courage turned the soft earth to mud and the valley must have echoed, it must have echoed to your cries. In the cool dawn, in our houses we can still hear you shouting, and if we come down to the fields, if we listen in the evening, we hear you weeping. When mist lies in the low meadows, we gather our children away and think of risings and despair. Through all the many years, priests have come to cast … Continue reading “The Place Where You Fell” by Lorraine Wilson

A Short Story by Ximena Garcia Hidalgo

They were anxious to lock someone up, anyone or anything, it didn´t matter. I don´t know why. Lenin explained that empires export their contradictions because they can and as a way to stabilize themselves inside.   The monster, the crippled one, the one on top of the hierarchy, locked up a dog in the bathroom. I don´t know why. It was a big dog. I don´t remember its name. I only remember its tragic fate. He locked it in the half-bathroom on the ground floor, that was maybe two meters wide by three or four meters long. I guess it … Continue reading A Short Story by Ximena Garcia Hidalgo

“Gothic, Colorado” by Zachary Kellian

The snow crunches like stiff leather under his boots. He winds through the scrub pine and aspens, stragglers along the mountain tree line. An aspen trunk, bone white and skeletal in the winter, becomes a perch on which to steady himself. The snowpack is unpredictable here and he needs the rest as his lungs ignite with each gulp of freezing air. The sky above him carries the clear delicateness of winter and one, lone bird — a blush of winged red and orange against the startling blue. It is cold today, but not as cold as it should be. He … Continue reading “Gothic, Colorado” by Zachary Kellian