She was seen once, donning a Paithani, balancing a rusted bicycle, riding past the tamarind tree whose fruits now smell of burned silk.
The cloth’s draped around an empty frame in her father’s house.
“Girls don’t vanish,” her aunt insists. “They’re just hard to find where men forget to look.”
Shivam Pailwan is a writer based in Mumbai working at the intersection of literature, media, and the rural-urban divide. He’s usually found at the cinemas.
“Monsters have green eyes,” she said, working feverishly with a crayon. “You can tell he’s a boy monster,” she said.
“Really?” I said. “What about girl monsters?”
“Girls are too good to be monsters.”
Suddenly I had no idea if I had been a good father or a terrible one.
Jim Woessner is a visual artist and writer from California. He has an MFA from Bennington. Publishing credits include Unbroken Journal, The Sea Letter, Adelaide Magazine, Potato Soup Journal, Ariel Chart, Peeking Cat, Critical Read, and others.
A top propagandist and Politburo member in the party, the younger sister now controls the Guidance and Organization Department, aka G.O.D., the body administering ideological indoctrination, party organization and political appointments.
Through edicts issued by G.O.D., a woman has unprecedented control of the future.
At last, there’s hope for mankind.
James Menges is a writer and photographer. He is a member of the Dramatists Guild of America.
The yelling was the first strike.
The possessive control was the second.
Now the bruised eye and busted lip signaled clearly that it was time to get out before it was too late.
He snuck out while she was sleeping, knowing that no one would believe him if he told.
Isabella Pinto is a current undergrad student at The New School, where she continues to work on her first novel.
Once upon a time I had a son, as familiar to me as my own hands.
For years, his sweet face betrayed nothing about his struggles.
One day he left unannounced and upon his return two years later, he was no longer my son.
Please smile. I gained a daughter.
Claire Polders is a Dutch author writing short prose in English. More of her work can be found at clairepolders.com. She likes it when readers say “hello” to her on Twitter.
y=x³-4
This stuff on the page would never mean anything to her. And history: names, places, dates… What was the point?
Glancing into a mirror, she saw snow-blonde hair, river-blue eyes, cute ramrod nose. Remembering other eyes, other glances, she knew that these fixed constants would circumscribe her entire life.
Ruby Ray has worked as a barmaid, cleaner, kitchen porter and gardener. After that she had a career in teaching. Now she wonders what will be next.