Author: The Editors

[In this excerpt from Caleb Duran’s short story “And Thus the Sands of Time Blow,” the village hunters and the main character, Petros, prepare to hunt the Great Beasts, their Read More …

Should give it fifteen but I’ll only give ten. Late again. It’s a wonder you still call me friend. And I’m so sorry, bro—Oh, the shit you put up with Read More …

Consider me a motel, convenient and on your way. Easy and inviting. A blooming neon sign, soft cursive above the highway. Leave your sheets undone and the TV on, no Read More …

private property signs littered beaches yachts bobbed beside reserved shores   curious toes tipped an invisible fence a barrier loathed with no hope to repent   my exhaust hiccuped and Read More …

rose-colored glass framed in the walls of a chapel panes slicked with rain sunlight falters just outside I still sing in your choir hoarse in the shadow of your pulpit Read More …

For Joshua Walker   1   An empty room— A chair, metal and cold A single light bulb, also cold. In the street, a torn scrap of newsprint flutters, gutters Read More …

The day was dark, even though the sun shone, it was dark. The air felt heavy, every breath a forceful event. I closed my eyes, hoping it would fade, that Read More …

  For Dan Connolly, Geoff Kramer, and John Wolff   The giant, hand-painted, fiercely weather-beaten sign has read BLA for twenty years now.  Ever since Riley Zwiecki’s truck leapt out Read More …

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to truly experience your dreams? What about your darkest nightmares? What if you could close your eyes and be sent into Read More …

And he was only nineteen with Ireland just becoming real to him, sitting in the Brazen Head, Dublin’s oldest pub, listening to “Fisherman’s Blues” from the live band and shyly Read More …

  Where does a person end and begin? ~Lawrence Kushner   i.e., when we take a single breath, we take in a single molecule from Caesar’s last exhalation. ~Enrico Fermi Read More …

My friend and I are driving in my beat up,  soccer mom, minivan  searching for abandoned buildings to look at  when I ask her if she wants to see where I grew up.  Her Read More …

Shaking beneath A thin layer of varicose veins And stretched out skin Lies A sobering solace A terrifying shift —I never wanted this   —Marina Falkowski  

There was no time for sightseeing or exploring today. Orange is not the predominant color one might expect to see in the forests of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula. The green seas Read More …

1. “These hallways are riot proof” my friend tells me as I run the tips of my chewed down fingers over cinder blocks smoothed by pale yellow paint. “It was Read More …

What are motes?   We wonder aloud, not quite caring.   They float in the air of this hot buttered car Get caught in your hair And we breathe them, Read More …

Editor’s note: The author of “Moving” has this to say about his work: [Moving is an interactive poem which is built on gaming ideas. The poem invites audiences to participate Read More …

It was a long way to shore. She was drifting. A minute ago, she’d been standing—feet sinking too deep into the soft bottom of the little pond. She’d been squealing Read More …

The crash is both sudden and infinite. Safe-coated glass from my windshield floats serene around me—that frozen cracked-ice breaking noise stretched impossibly both long and wide—glass suspended, held glittering up Read More …

It was my cat what first saw it—what first saw him, that is. My little cat, strolling right up to the corpse and licking at its unseeing eyeball—his eyeball, for Read More …

Kingsley called them the Oldguns. The Delvers guided a crate of them onto the hook, swinging about as upon a countenance of its own. Repstein, manning the claw above, lowered Read More …