Dec 8, 2020 | All Fiction, Issue 2, Issue 2 Fiction
Its umbilical cord was still attached. Iron, the smell of red, reeked off of it as drops of blood splattered onto the tiles. Charlie rushed the baby inside. He shouted for someone to get a doctor and began pulling off taffy wrappers, cigarette buds, and other trash...
Dec 8, 2020 | All Poetry, Issue 2, Issue 2 Poetry, Online Exclusive
They looked strange in that muddy pit, the white, shiny old-lady shoes, not unlike the ones you wore every day, laced around the tall white socks that went halfway up your calves. They looked just as clean now as when I used to sneak my sunburnt scalp out of the...
