Last season, the beach moved in three more feet, the houses built on stilts above grass now above sand &, before the decade ends, above water.
Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry by…
I found Richey Edwards’ body in the stream behind my house. It had metamorphosed into a pile of wet stones.
We’re eating at this fancy restaurant when the waitress recommends the peppers. “They’re not spicy,” she says. “Only one in ten are spicy.”
This wasn’t supposed to be fun. We were moving our lives, not taking a road trip.
Parallax parallax, n. [pærəlæks] 1. You always drove whenever we’d take a road trip anywhere. Which was just fine with me. I’d sit beside you, staring out at the moving scenery or memorizing your profile. Sometimes I’d fall asleep to the gentle rhythm of the car treading along the asphalt and then we’d hit a…
Overnight, my threads arrived. Thin strands dangle from both ears.
There was a boy who found a dead hummingbird next to a deflated mylar balloon.
When I pulled away the hospital sheet, I asked Jared, “Do you like them?” and he whistled a long note, then rubbed his hands together.
“Lipless” was selected by Matthew Salesses as the winner of the 2016 New South Writing Contest. Check out Eric’s interview with Assistant Editor Jamey McDermott, and read his prize-winning story