By Matthew Spence It’s 7:30 a.m. on a Monday, and it’s time for me to go to work at my day job. I help my wife get the kids ready for school and take the drive down the interstate to the insurance office where I crunch numbers for a living. No one bats an eye…

By Todd Mercer Walking town on business I saw a gigantic grammar failure, shining in neon. I went inside the crapola bar beneath the sign, to make suggestions. Disorienting place, deprivation tank dark. It smelled of cleaning chemicals and warm beef. A soupçon of a bygone Fern Bar incarnation lingered in an otherwise Bad Lager…

By Terri Mullholland She wakes in the night to find people standing around her bed. Men, women, and children. Sometimes they wear uniforms, sometimes everyday clothes, once they were all draped in shrouds. They are always in black and white. They’re only dreams. That’s what everyone tells her. And to be fair, they’re classic night…

By T. Wallace You stand for a moment, then you sit. Your heart seems to stretch. Your eyes can’t focus for more than a moment. The infernal place where you sit seems to breathe with torridity, casting a shining web of icey warmth on your skin. Your body radiates, as you become lethargic. To all…