Eleventh Hour Fiction
Near the end of winter, with spring too far off, Daddy would go out back and tap on the tank. It would sound as empty as my stomach. 23 more words
11 hours, 23 minutes
I pick the skin at the edges of my fingernails until they bleed. I hope someone will finally notice me and ask what happened there?
20 hours, 38 minutes
The drink goes instantly to my head. I part my lips and close my eyes, feeling a burning rush of giddy confidence fill my chest. 25 more words
1 day, 2 hours
Postcard Poems and Prose
Claudia Serea immigrated from Romania to the U.S. in 1995. Her poems and translations have appeared in New Letters, 5 a.m., Meridian, Word Riot, Apple Valley Review, and many others. 256 more words
1 day, 4 hours
Not Another Write Club
In a great land, there is a hill.
The hill has been there for as long as anyone can remember. It remains unsettled, clean and visible for miles around. 1,128 more words
1 day, 16 hours
He tells her he drinks to forget the accident. He tells himself he drinks to escape her sobbing. In truth, he drinks to punish her.
1 day, 20 hours
Hot sun reflects blindingly from water like plate glass, empty horizon in all directions. The dead air sinks breathlessly over the boat. A sepia haze appears low in the northern sky. 19 more words