By: Ed Dzitko

They settled in every day on the same bench, during lunch hour, in the same sequence. He knew that because he sat across the park nearly everyday, on the same bench, during his lunch hour.

The overdressed one sat to his left, the long-haired brunette to her right, and the tatooed one with the monster dog to the far right, The playful one sat between her and the brunette. She knew he watched them, watched her, and always showed him her legs.

Once, when she looked right at him, he jumped up, hastily gathered his lunch, and walked quickly away.


By: Megan Cramer

The spasms shook her body, rhythmically shaking her center every five to ten seconds. She cried out to the heavens for release. She tried the breath method: breathe in fully for five, hold for five, and then breathe out slowly, as through a straw, for ten. She tried her grandmother’s method: “what were you doing this same day a year ago?” to distract her mind from the earth shaking spasms. But it was only the typing of words, the recording of the experience, the getting-to-100-words that finally calmed the diaphragm. She breathed an uninterrupted breath and turned out the light.


By: Laura K.

If you believe the multiverse theory, there’s a new universe with every choice.

There’s a universe where I won the lottery.  One where our hair is bright purple. Where Crystal Pepsi is all the rage.

One where I never went to the party. Or does that not matter? Maybe we just meet some other way.

One where you went to the doctor. Where they caught it early.

Who knows what other things happen, in those worlds.

But what is the point of the universe where it’s just like this one, except I ordered sausage instead of pepperoni on my pizza?

Climb Rhyme

By: Lauren Spagnoletti

I’ve just finished reading a book to my kids

And it involved some very good rhymes

And so I’ve decided to use what I’ve learned

To talk about how my son climbs

Whenever he gets so close as an inch

To a structure that goes into the air

He can’t help himself, he hitches his pants

And if he doesn’t climb, that would be rare

He uses his legs and his ten little fingers

To grip and to push and to pull

He gets to the top, there’s no trying to stop

When he charges right up like a bull


By: Melissa Ratliff

Finding the beginning of the rainbow was tricky. Like a mirage, it constantly shimmered and shimmied further out of reach. He had to use his sixth sense – something he hadn’t done since he was a kid. Closing his eyes and concentrating completely, he eventually felt a gravitational pull that propelled him forth. Moments later, the hairs on his arm stood to attention. Then he felt each color run through his veins, like a melody made rich with hot and cold notes. He had made it. Afraid it would end, but needing to see, he slowly opened his eyes and gasped.

Plain Jane

By: Ed Dzitko

Nearly every day for weeks, she was on window ledge, sitting with an elbow resting on a bent knee. She always wore the same hat, olive jacket, and white scarf, with black, blue, or green jeans, and the same tan, laced boots.

Plain Jane, he nicknamed her. What’s Plain Jane is doing right now, he’d wonder more than once a day. Odd thing is, he never saw her do anything, not eat, drink, smoke, read, talk, or stare at a phone. She just sat, same time, same place. Weird, right?

Then one day, Plain Jane smiled, and it was magic.


By: Lauren Spagnoletti

“Come on! There’s winnahs and losahs!” the older man yelled at the team of 4-year-old soccer players on the field.

“Dad! You can’t do that here. He’ll get thrown outta the league,” said little Sal’s father.

Their accents were unmistakable. Jersey, no doubt. My people.

On that morning of junior soccer in my new southern city, I found a tiny piece of home.

It wasn’t the first time.

Every day, a new person crosses my path with that northern attitude, that city accent. We’re everywhere. We’ve infiltrated the south.

Now with my smoked pork, I get a side of Jersey.


By: Ed Dzitko

There was a rustle behind me. And a… giggle? What?

I was sure I was alone on this island. Not another human being around. I had wandered the edge, thinking if anyone was here there would at least be signs of life along the water. But there had been none. And yet…

Was that another giggle? It had been 15, no 16, days, and other than a few small animals, I hadn’t seen another living being. I turned, creeping inland through the sand.

There. Is that? I blinked. Did I see an eye? Or were mine playing tricks on me?

With a Little Luck

By: Melissa Ratliff

Stopped at the red light, she casually glanced out the open window to the median beside her car. She instantly saw one. Internally she cringed a little – it would piss people off to know she wasn’t even trying, but honestly, she wasn’t. Her eyes just had a way of focusing on what others couldn’t see. Perhaps it was the break in the pattern that always drew her gaze. She wasn’t sure. But if she came across a patch, never fail, she would walk out with a hand full of four leaf clovers. Now, if only that meant she was lucky.


By: Megan Cramer

He was resigned to resign; to not resign his contract for next year. Well… that was a half truth. He wasn’t actually offered a contract. He was offered a choice. And as he tearfully stood in front of his beloved colleagues, he choked out vague words that technically made up a sentence, but made no sense: “life” “opportunity” “thanks” “growth” “right thing” “goodbye”. Avoiding eye contact, his head was heavy and his neck muscles seemed resigned themselves, quitting their job of holding up his skull. He walked to the corner, letting the two right-angled walls support him from both sides.

Create a website or blog at

Up ↑