The Girlfriend Game, stories by Nick Antosca

Word Riot Inc.: Kicking Small Press Into High Gear
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Mailbox by Sarah Gaffney


Sarah Kilch Gaffney’s writing has most recently appeared in Brain, Child, Mamalode, 491 Magazine, and the Apeiron Review. She lives in central Maine and you can find her work at

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The Three Friends by Mark Hoadley


Mark Hoadley lives in Vancouver. He writes poetry, fiction, science fiction and memoir. Sometimes he even mixes them all together. He is a co-editor of the online poetry journal, The Maynard. He recently had a prose poem in KYSO Flash. This is his second published work.

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Sink by Shome Dasgupta

Shome Dasgupta is the author of i am here And You Are Gone (Winner Of The 2010 OW Press Fiction Chapbook Contest), and The Seagull And The Urn (HarperCollins India, 2013). His stories and poems have appeared in Puerto Del SolNew Orleans ReviewNANO FictionEveryday GeniusMagma Poetry, and elsewhere. His fiction has been selected to appear in The &Now Awards 2: The Best Innovative Writing (&Now Books, 2013). His work has been featured as a storySouth Million Writers Award Notable Story, nominated for The Best Of The Net, and longlisted for the Wigleaf Top 50. He lives in Lafayette, LA and his website can be found at

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Dredging by Asha Dore


Asha Dore’s work has recently appeared in The Rumpus, Burrow Press Review, River Teeth’s Beautiful Things, and other venues. She is pursuing an M.F.A. at Eastern Oregon University with a concentration on Creative Nonfiction.

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Incidents by Mike Topp

CHURLISH Still smarting after that guy called me a mammering, beef-witted skains-mate at the Renaissance Fair.

THIS SENTENCE This sentence uses all the letters of the alphabet dfgjkmqvwxyz.

BELIEVE IT OR NOT Turns out Billy Bob Thornton’s real name is William Robert Thornton.

SECURITY Just changed all my passwords and my mother’s birthday.

HOW TO PICK A LOCK Picking a lock is really easy. They have tons of them at Kmart.

REALLY? If you’re a hangman, and you’re putting a noose on someone, I bet it would really make you mad if the guy was looking at his smartphone.


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Five Prose Poems by Parker Tettleton


Parker Tettleton is the author of the prose poetry collection GREENS (Thunderclap Press 2012) & three chapbooks: SAME OPPOSITE (Thunderclap Press 2010), OURS MINE YOURS (Pity Milk Press 2014) & MAN SUGAR (co-authored by Riley Michael Parker, Housefire Books 2014). More or less is here.

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impen(ding) by Vanessa Couto Johnson


You have I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter in your fridge. Like it’s still the 1990s. Fabio and the oil of vegetable.

I saw a DeLorean leaving your town. Forthcoming and going back.

College students migrate in. Congrats graduate out. Population scholar shipping. Glide the equator of semester.

We survive the equinox to startle the eve of an eve. Tempt the vesper in your ear. Sun of hot mouth, warm head. Your snuggle under the sum. Weekendings.

Smart assorted. The colors of an Uno game fill your closet. Fabric softener and Scattergories. I lose because I am an associative

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Tendu by Elizabeth Schmuhl


Tendu: [tahn-doo], /tɑnˈdu/, verb 1. Rachel was ten and sitting in History class when she first felt the blood pooling in her underwear. She could also smell it: salted, rancid nuts, she thought. With her feet firmly on the ground and her hands on both sides of her chair, she lifted up her butt. Later there would be the bathroom, the long, deep red mark in her purple panties – a tongue of sorts – taunting her. I am here, she’d imagine it saying. She vomited twice before returning to class where she sat once again on the chair, the

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Five Pieces by Parker Tettleton


I took a January test today – she’s twenty-four in seven months. For another country, on Friday, it’s the year of the horse. I wait for the train home with a blank screen used to predict arrivals on my left. It was zero in Chicago when I woke & where we are thirty-nine. It isn’t thirty-nine now. I’m halfway to twenty-seven this Valentine’s Day. The train lets me off at the convention center then I walk north. It’s 2014. I couldn’t be more or less West Germanic.

Valium From Mandy

I can be reached from the fist underneath my

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Three Short-Shorts by Michael K. Meyers



Listen to a reading of “Alaska” by Michael K. Meyers.

I said, Mom, when you were alive, and not wacko, remember that time Cynthia and I believed…what was it you told us—earnest like a commodity trader—that we actually believed? That thing. I forget. I recall it was “a something big” that you were passionate about, and passed that on. (The important thing to remember is not the specifics but the results, as you would say.) Most of those in our circle resisted the plain truth of that thing that both Cynthia and I forget, and because of the

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