FICTION, ISSUE 4

The Depths of Finer Things

The first time I died, Ima tells me, the sun flared its great, fiery disc and swallowed the whole world in a moment. And everything that had been was then no more. The second time I died, it was at the hands of a grand, dark army, their bayonets through my stomach and heart. And when I fell their boots marched over my corpse as though a body that falls was never standing to begin with.

On 5th Street, TiltMN
FICTION, ISSUE 4

The Definition of Hope

The day breaks sweaty like the last. Like every day in summer. And especially so in the city where there are no trees to provide shade – only countless blocks of cement baking like the desert, or like the desserts baking in oven pans from the church basement after service. All we can do is hope for rain.

A Photo of Shakespeare that is not for sale
FICTION, ISSUE 6

Not For Sale

Gogo was raised by her uncle after her mother died and her father left for Argentina. Her father never returned from South America, and whether he was alive or dead she never cared to find out.

FICTION, ISSUE 3

Bury Me in St. Paul

It is a warm and humid night in summer. The sound of dogs barking on the street. The sound of crickets from the brush and cicadas in trees. Fireflies flash like tiny cameras through the grass along rows of dark cars parked along the curb.

FICTION, ISSUE 6

A Thousand Happy Lives

Youth. His father lived a thousand lives before he died at the age of 53. He worked as a security guard for Gem Lake Casino by highway 29, spending his days watching screens linked to cameras placed high above people playing cards, pulling levers, drinking, laughing, and shouting below. Drawn to the most interesting and

Shopping Cart
Scroll to Top