ISSUE 6
“What To Do When You Throw Up Your Heart”
by Wren Campise
I threw up my heart last night.
I was just sitting at my desk when a sudden wave of nausea overcame me. A rush to the bathroom and a squat in front of the toilet later, there it was. Staring up at me, beating and writhing against porcelain.
Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.
“Together Dream”
by Michael C. Denysenko
It was my usual routine. Stay up until close to two in the morning, make sure my journal is on my nightstand, listen to some music before bed, and drift asleep. Usually because it’s so late, I immediately fall asleep and begin lucid dreaming. Tonight was different though; my heart was keeping me up. I’ve had a crush on a girl I met through some friends a while back, and I always wanted to tell her about it, but for whatever reason, I held off. I kept tossing and turning, trying to clear my head and fall asleep so I didn’t destroy my sleep schedule any more than it already was.
“Sorry I Missed You”
by Madeleine Medeiros
The glossy brushed-silver walls of the elevator do nothing to brighten the dimly-lit space. They only blurrily reflect my frame as the doors slide shut. The lights on the ceiling of the boxy lift are mismatched, one ceiling-tile light is a flickery blue-white fluorescent, and the other is a soft yellow—like the lights they pull over your head at the dentist’s office when your plaque is being scraped away. A soft chugging lurch sets the death-trap off on its upwards flight. The movement churns the half-stale airport bagel that I ate while waiting for my Uber from JFK International.
“To Me at Two”
by Evelyn Villanueva
Instructions for Leaving Home
Do not tie your shoes until the sun has burned the horizon and the desert has whispered your name through stones that will forget it before night, do not expect the road to remember you or the wind to carry your weight beyond the corners where light hesitates like an unanswered question.
“Doubled Reflection”
by Adam Aouassar
After waking from a long sleep, I hate that brief but terrifying moment where you cannot tell where the rest of the world ends, and you begin.
This time, fluorescent lighting screamed at me as soon as my eyes peeked open. Thinking a clear thought was difficult through the pain washing over my head in waves. I pushed myself upright and fought through the grogginess to make sense of my surroundings.
Steps
by Isabel Quintero
Watercolor
“The Cliffs”
by Eileen Kaeser
It seemed like a warm day, but at sea it was freezing. While conditions were right for a day on the water, the little boat was swift in its tour of the islands, cutting through the wild Atlantic wind and choppy waters. It was the onset of their journey, and while there was a chill in the air, it hadn’t yet permeated their coats, hadn’t seeped through the layers upon layers they hoped would withstand the cold.
“Note from the Mausoleum”
by Xochi Perez
No one ever talks about that crack in the ceiling. It stretches across the living room like a scar. It’s thin and zigzags. Small dust pieces flutter down, but no one bothers to glance up. It wasn’t there when Deja and I moved in with our aunt and uncle, back when I still had a physical body that could brush past furniture and knock over items on the kitchen table. Now I just watch. And wait. Everyone continues to sweep up the fallen pieces without looking up. The landlord, Lalo, steps right over them. Everyone here moves on with their lives while the ceiling above them is on the verge of collapsing. But I see it. I always see it.
“From the Woods”
by David Robillard
Proteus Initiative Incident Report 3753-F
Specimen ID: 2912350-12
Date of Incident: January 17th, 2047
Subject breached containment at 1:00 pm by pretending to be dead, then knocking out the guard sent to investigate. Subject traversed much of the facility without resistance but was detected when approaching the north gate. Subject was able to escape before lockdown could be engaged, though it suffered a leg injury after being shot by guard A-7. Retrieval is of the highest priority, as the Initiative has yet to produce any specimens with more potential than 2912350-12.
Motherly Bond
by Carmine DeCrescenzo
Pencil, Sharpie, and Marker
