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Glasses up, here’s to you

By Mason Schoen

My father’s my hero. He’s survived a whole lot worse tragedies than you or me, and yet I’ve never seen him cry in my life.

Hunters will be hunted

By Max Saucedo

“What time is it Marshall?” It’s half past two. “How cold?” It’s cold enough. “Is he still out there Marshall?” I reckon he’s watching us right now, Davey.

We will wait for you

By Mason Schoen

My sister still sleeps in the hospital as I await my father’s phone call. There’s a cloud covering so thick, all flights have been canceled.

Falling asleep forever

By Mason Schoen

“If it were me, I’d break those kids’ fingers,” he said, snapping an apple core in half and forcing it into the drain.

A blood-dimmed jungle

By Max Saucedo

This jungle is a living creature. The cicadas buzzing. The birds chirping. It’s near impossible to sleep at night. The air is so humid you could swear it’s raining.

Drain him of all his good

By Mason Schoen

I lay silent on his couch in the middle of his living room and watch a fly wander from the television to the window, unsure of which glass to break through to return home.

The outside edges man

By Mason Schoen

I’m the transition man.

When we had each other

By Mason Schoen

Do you remember when we were just starting out?” She asks as they get into bed. Blue light from the television screen drapes over the furniture and casts shadows along the far side of the room.