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Author: Bryan Milstead Bryan Duong Milstead is a 14-year-old Asian American student based in the Shenandoah Valley. He was a national winner of the 2022 NASA "Power to Explore" essay challenge and has had two journalistic articles published on the "Virginia Association of Journalism Teachers and Advisers" (VAJTA) website, displaying his immense enthusiasm for writing. Sophisticated imagery and the intricacies of human emotions are two things he enjoys incorporating within his work. there was a light within all of us.
it experienced beautiful, idyllic times, problems abundantly were kept at bay, and our rose-colored cheeks were invigorated by sunshine
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Author: Huina Zheng Huina Zheng, a Distinction M.A. in English Studies holder, works as a college essay coach. She’s also an editor at Bewildering Stories. Her stories have been published in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, and others. Her work has received nominations twice for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She resides in Guangzhou, China with her husband and daughter. to watch over her brother. When her brother erred, she bore the brunt, chastised for not shielding and guiding him. Once, in a fit of rage over such a perceived failure, her mother wielded a broom with such force that it broke her arm.
Author: Katherine Zhao Katherine Zhao is a 16-year-old writer and artist from New York. She is the founder and EIC of the Chromatic Scars Review and her work can be found in the Blue Marble Review, TeenInk, Scribere, and more. Her work has won accolades from the National Council of Teachers of English, the Nancy Thorp Poetry Competition, Wildlife Forever, and more. The glint of her gold hoop earrings casts a defiant diamond against the sky, beads of sweat from the overhead sun tracing the fault lines around her eyes. Fingernails glazed with a rushed layer of alizarin crimson, Ms. Rivera jams a small brass key into a rusted doorknob hidden in a back alley, uttering a few benign curses when it doesn't budge with her first few attempts.
Author: Helen Weil Helen is a Chicago native and grad student at the University of Minnesota. Her work has previously been published in The Tower Literary Magazine, BirdHouse Magazine, and Kalopsia Lit. Atlas is the first of us to leave home.
That’s not quite right. Mom was the first to go. She left on a red backboard and found a new home in the cemetery down the road. I wonder why she was in such a rush to go. I wonder if she knew something we didn’t. Maybe the soil is a softer place to rest than a bed with a husband in it. Author: Calla Smith Calla Smith lives and writes in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She enjoys long walks, cooking, and keeping her eyes open for the bizarre in everyday life. She has published a collection of flash fiction “What Doesn’t Kill You”, and her work can also be found in several literary journals. It was the farthest north they had ever been. Ellie had an aunt who lived in a large vacation home on the seaside somewhere where it was always warm, and they could escape the cold weather of the city that they had never left before, where the bare trees cracked under the wind and the glass of kitchen windows grew white with frost in the early mornings.
Ellie knew that Caroline needed to get away, the same way that Ellie always knew everything about her. It had been that way since Caroline had first tasted Ellie’s name on her tongue and felt the sharp edges getting stuck in her teeth all those years ago. Their friendship had long been merely a fact of life. Author: Kim Hayes Kim lives and works in Chicago, IL. She is married and owned by two cats. I got up at the usual time, shortly before sunrise. The weather app on my phone said it was clear, and I looked out the living room window towards the beach. The lake was as still as glass. It was going to be a glorious sunrise. I grabbed my phone, cigarettes, a beach towel, slid my feet into my flip-flops, and headed out.
Author: Mariam Bukia Active and open to challenges because she thinks the world is a playground of unlimited possibilities, she works as a general manager, project manager, PR manager, young teacher, head of personnel department, book club leader, and speaker, in educational organizations. She writes poems, stories, sketches, because in this way she feeds the garden of her thoughts and ideas with sunlight. The shadows of the city shimmer like her sickly pale face. The night flickers like clichés and old, unchanging words emerging from lips deprived of mental depths, like words uttered out of place and like every unspoken word.
Author: A. R. Tivadar is a hobby writer from Romania and a graduate of the University of Oradea. She has been published in underscore_magazine, the Aurum Journal, Motus Audax Press, Firework Stories, miniMAG, The Expressionist, Pink Heart Mag, Cathartic Lit Magazine, Academy of the Heart and Mind & Alien Buddha Press. Mirela looked out the window and saw him. There was a man standing in the field outside her new home, tall and unmoving. The overgrown wheat reached his waist. He stood with his back towards the window, so all she could see was the back of his head and his big, puffy shirt.
“Mom!” She called out. Author: Azhaar Khair Azhaar Khair is a writer from Indonesia. She writes in English and Indonesian. Her Instagram is @azhaarakhair. For the past few days, I cried over nightmares I couldn’t remember. Today was the same. I woke up with tears trickling down; my heart palpitating heavily and my breathing short. None of the dreams I could retrieve, but the devastation remained.
Attempting to sleep again was futile. It was already eight in the morning. I planned to visit my son-in-law today; I couldn’t be late given his circumstances. I wiped my tears, took a shower, got dressed, and exited the bedroom. Author: Maya Cheav Maya Cheav is a pile of stardust trying to be a person. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Across the Margin, ALOCASIA, Stone of Madness, and Scapegoat Review. She published her debut poetry chapbook, Lykaia, with Bottlecap Press in early 2023. “I cheated on my wife.”
The silence that followed was thick and buttery, like a dense fog seeping through the patterned grate that stood between them, oozing through the cracks in the stained wood of the confession box. The quiet was broken by a sob stifled in his sleeve, Hartford’s voice cracking like bones under deadweight. He made a half-baked attempt to regain his composure, clearing the cobwebs from his throat, though a spider remained, its feet itching back and forth at his tongue. |
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