Q

by Lee Martin
The president, Donald Trump, had been chosen by God, according to those who believed in Q, to arrest thousands of members of the cabal on a day of reckoning known as The Storm.

1969

by Kathryn Kulpa
You gave up chocolate for Lent but it didn’t take. You aren’t good at saying no. Hungry girls want everything.

The Escape Artist

by Partridge Boswell
In the museum of trauma, you stand back at least ten feet from each painting. Out of respect for other patrons mainly and the tacit rules of viewing.

So Slow That It Sounds True

by Vanessa Tamm
You remember running barefoot on a long road that spiraled down a mountain, and the road was wet, and bits of gravel cut into your soles.

Things Are Different Now

by Karen McIntyre
Every morning, I make a neat grid with 10 perfectly square boxes, each square worth 100 calories, and that’s what I get for the day.

Brooklyn Bridge

by Grace Shuyi Liew
As soon as I’m released to the store floor, I turn against the company. I scan every third item the customers bring to the register. Buy one item, get two free.

Height Determined by Distance

by Tommy Dean
We’re in the car again. Dad drunk and playing with the radio from the passenger’s side, his knuckles bruised and swelling. He takes his anger out on the walls.

In the Museums of Heaven and Hell

by Goldie Goldbloom
On either side of the halls of Heaven and Hell are the great glass-fronted cases displaying the glories of this world.

The Faith Healer

by Ciera Horton McElroy
We don’t know why he came. Ours is not a big city. There are no stadiums, no conference centers, no airport hotels to fill with hosannas. Instead, he has a folding chair at the farmer’s market.