by Rachel Shabalin The girl pulls the dial on the washing machine and watches the water bleed into the creases of her jeans. It’s one of those outdated models where the water jets out in a blade and the exterior echoes and pops when you sit on the lid.
High summer and the river’s opalescent blue again, but this year it’s more brilliant than I remember. The boys are already chest-deep in the middle of the slow water.
by Vina Nguyen The shadow sea, awash with blinking towers opaque and sharp as obsidian, greeted me from afar. The earth hummed, electricity filling veins beneath the asphalt. The burning stink was everywhere. I couldn’t decide whether I’d left the dead or found them. In my bloody hands
The baseline, garden-variety anatomy of a happily ever after would be three words, a period -effortlessly small and entirely consequential- and some sort of bright etcetera.