Ed Hopper Train Painting

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The Mass Blinding of Sclera, Wyoming

By Hannah Zhang

The town scalper says he lost his eyes at the supermarket. Left them on a shelf in the toothpaste aisle, and when he came back, they were gone. I say maybe he wasn’t looking hard enough, and neither of us laugh. My sister keeps a jar of two brown eyes on a shelf in the…


By Ola W. Halim

—finally, it is night and you wrench the bulb from the porch ceiling and all the moths plop to the floor and you traverse the rug of ripped wings and squashed thoraxes and the sounds of your boots pierce my chest but this time there is no blood and the pain I’m supposed to feel…

Lil Fucker

By Sara Hills

We bury Lil Fucker facing north in the frozen yard, halfway between the dogwood tree and the rusted tin shed, in the spot where he liked to shit. Daddy Lin tamps the dirt with the back of the shovel and hocks a pink gob onto the snow next to Lil Fucker’s fresh grave. Were he…

T, My Name is Tonya

By Kathryn Kulpa

But not really. It’s a nickname, something my sister used to call me. You wouldn’t know my real name. He never did. I wasn’t the first one he killed. I wasn’t the last. Not quite. I was part of the long fade but not the final coda. He was shooting for 100. I was #94.…


By Jiksun Cheung

In the time that my mother has been missing, the skies have turned a gray, roiling mass. The radio is calling it the most violent typhoon to make landfall in thirty-two years. We’ve looked everywhere, and there’s nowhere else left except here, in the ruins of the abandoned Wah Fung housing estate, where my mother…

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