“Angles,” by Jac Jemc
My mother would forget to cut the cantaloupe until it was too late, until the whole house smelled like something wrong and full of questions. The incorrectness would spread itself on the obliques of the melon and we’d politely pick around the soft parts, aiming our forks at the pieces edged in green, hoping there was science to getting a bite more ripened than rot.
“Scar Show,” by Sarah Rose Etter
Paul stands near me, a microphone sunk into his fat oily hand.
“MEN, WE ALL KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR!”
There is a roar of man sounds, man hands slamming together to create boom claps.
“Slow Wave,” by Sarah Jean Alexander
I had never seen a mermaid before. It was not beautiful.
“Miasma,” by C.A. Schaefer
The little children call me The Beak Doctor, and squawk like birds around me. It is only play. But at my feet they throw flowers. They think it will keep them safe.
“I’m Pogo,” by Lindsay Hunter
Most clowns paint their smiles with rounded corners to appear friendlier to children. But boys don’t think they’re afraid of anything. Better they learn. Paint your face with blood and bone…