By Sara Winnick
My sister doesn’t have any scars. At least, not any you can see. Her hair hasn’t been the same since the accident—the doctors had to shave a portion of it to cut into her scalp, to relieve the pressure the car put on her skull and her skull put on her brain. She has perpetually thinning curls and frizz control issues. But no scars. (Read More)
By Claire Laine
By the time I reached my gate at the Minneapolis airport, the shoes on my feet were no longer mine.
I found a seat and started scrolling through photos on my phone, magnifying every image that contained the shoes and comparing the boots on the screen to the ones I was wearing. (Read More)
By Anna S.F.
there is an imaginary sort of friend, a woman who exists in my mind as an ideal version of a woman. it's not my best self, or the best version of someone i love. she sort of just floats there, silent with small movements here and there. adjusting her hair, or bending over to get a better look at something. (Read More)
By Ashley Rose
There’s the friend you wonder if you knew in another lifetime. They’re an excellent dancer and they are always moving, but not fidgeting, and they know when to be around people and when to not. (Read More)
The show is in a popular bar in the Lower East Side that I don’t yet know is a mainstay. Attractive people in trench coats and logoless baseball caps press past us as we try to steady the beer in our plastic cups. We scan the room for any signs of a stage, too intimidated to ask a stranger here. It’s my third week in New York, his eighth. (Read More)