What Do You See In Her?
by Celeste Kaufman
“What do you see in her?”
Damien sighed and shifted his weight away from me in bed. “I don’t want to talk about this again.”
“There has to be something.”
He turned a page of his book. “Sometimes it’s just a feeling.”
by Craig Foltz
Sulphur lacks evidence. It produces huge domes of salt which loom between us. There are reams of the earth’s crust, cut up into triangles and arranged on vintage ceramic plates. We develop a collection of books through a complex system of appropriation, while pink hazy clouds drift by outside the window.
A Wodehouse Triptych
by Snowden Wright
Biddies in the Belfry:
A Blandings Co-op Tale
On the walk past her neighbor’s door, Ms. Sarah Livingston heard him ask his visitor, “What exactly did you witness Jehovah doing?” That was the moment she fell in love with the bloody devil.
by Christine Olivas
When Karen arrived, she responded to her client through the app—In line at Tim Ho Wan. You have nothing to worry about. Enjoy your afternoon! She then went to the end of the already-long queue, opened her portable chair, and sat down. Her legs were tired from the rush to arrive, and it was a temporary relief to be off her feet. To her right, a couple waited. Even though their hands interlocked, they were in the midst of debate, loudly whispering back and forth.
by Emi Benn
A chorus of me too’s greeted her as she opened the app. Mimi scrolled, reading through the harrowing accounts of people she knew, people she knew vaguely, and people she didn’t really know at all but felt like she did. She had to pause before she included herself among them—had she ever been sexually harassed or assaulted? Of course not, she thought before remembering a voice teacher who’d asked her at fifteen what turned her on and a man on the subway who’d grabbed her butt.
by Sean Gill
Originally published in:
Yarver, Kimberly, ed. An Oral History of the Borough War. Incognito Publishing, New York, 2058. Used by permission.
Born in Uniontown, Pennsylvania in 1973, Victor Walker drove a bus for New York City’s Metropolitan Transit Authority from 2017 to 2032. In August 2024, at the close of the Borough War, he and dozens of other drivers were conscripted for a specialized task: the ferrying of former prisoners and other refugees from the city to secret locations in New Jersey. We met with him in March 2054 at Scorchy’s, a neighborhood bar in Mariners Harbor, Staten Island. At the age of 81, he remains in the workforce, employed as a barback at Scorchy’s. Today is his day off and he leisurely enjoys a drink: scotch and Bailey’s, warmed in the bar microwave for thirty seconds. Though his hair is a dusty white, he could easily be mistaken for a man in his 50s.
The Old Beast
by MH Rowe
Something died under the porch most winters. This time it was on the crooked side near the stairs, where the leak from the roof had softened the floorboards. The wood groaned like a ship at sea. It gave off a rotten smell. The scent made Lina think of the old beast, and she wondered if he still lived out there in the lonely places.
Winter in Arcadia
by Katy Finnegan
The bare trees split the cold, grey January sky like a broken pane of glass. I was walking down Feather’s Hill when I saw the mist drifting in the valley below, slow moving and eerie. Strange, I thought, furrowing my brow beneath my knitted woollen hat as I took in the view. It wasn’t until Dara, the wolfhound, began sniffing the air that I realized it wasn’t mist I was seeing – it was smoke.
Then, I began to run.