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Fiction
Vic Pura
An author is confronted by the protagonist of her 32nd fiction.
She had written a story about the incident, more or less an undisguised one, populated by the same characters with little or no changes in name. I followed suit and just used one...
Nesting
I used to bite my tongue a lot. I hated facing things head on. My emotions feel like they have all risen to the surface from years of being anchored down to the sea bed, barnacled and all. I’ve become a lot more...
Kronos Eats All His Children in the End
What do you fear for yourself in the future?
Haya stared at the question written on the paper.
For some reason, her college has a dedicated class about preparing students for the life of being in college — especially this college. Haya thought it was...
Lighter
It was Kimmy’s last night at work. Before the shift ended, she grabbed a box in her locker where she kept all the lighters random people had left lying around in the designated smoking areas in the building. At lunch break, she went...
Echoes of the Blue Fire
Our ancestors believed the butat-iw were bad omens.
They appeared when I was alone—wild orbs of floating blue fire, the size of my Baba’s fist. When in great curiosity I tried to reach for them, they would vanish with a soft hush, only to...
The Weight of Small Things
Fear is at the back of her mind, a shimmering heat in the distance, a glowing ember in the dark. Silently acknowledged but never confronted, because naming might push her off the deep end. But it is there, biding its time, like a...
