A Flash Science Fiction Story — As wailing sirens fill the air, I look up into a sepia sky and wonder if my world is finally going to end. My fathers drag me in from our backyard and rush me into our basement’s emergency shelter. It smells like mildew and gunpowder. My sister is already crying…

A Pandemic Poem — I’ve spent the last year folding in on myself As some feeble attempt to get rid of this body. Passively, of course, like some tidy little origami bird As if the paper that makes me would change with the shape rather than the dull green which constitutes me. The words…

After ACG’s Microfiction Addiction: Underwater Experiments — Suspended in the fluid-postern, Beaux breathes. First contact was always depicted differently in the stories he’d heard. The optimists promised peace. The harbingers swore destruction. But here, now, floating in weightless, translucent liquid… Beaux freezes. Not from the fluid-postern — not quite. It’s actually rather comfortable, Beaux thinks, like a fleshy womb.

Young Minds of Medium My Home — I was told some people are born lucky. Perhaps — but then by consequence I realize, if true, I find myself lucky to have been born. I feel like parts of me live in different places. As if some witch or wanderer snatched me up, Laid me out in chunks…

Young Minds of Medium Music Call — there’s a straggling feeling, a struggle born of time and thought, as if, keen on being aligned, one chases after the other. i think they are the moon and sun. caught in a cycle of mutual desire for togetherness, barred by distance. …

Young Minds of Medium “Blues Call” — When the lake dries out, When pitchforks come knockin’, When loose dirt comes crashin’ down, Where will you go? The click of a virtual hammer On a colt made of pixels. It’s yours, as much as anything Can be yours here — holster it in faux leather And carry on your way. There’s a universe…

I found fragments of the poem I wrote for you, A curl of paper folded up in the cupboard Next to a half-washed wine glass with a chip on the rim. …

A conversation with me, myself, and I — I And above all to know you are infinitely insignificant. As if you have nowhere to go but up, which is certain. But you look at the universe without duplicity like a two-way street with no division. Like a chalk outline on the sidewalk blown into billions of fractions. Like when…

Young Minds of Medium Inspiration Call — to fall is to realize life is a series of failing — flailing, perhaps, like a fish dropped on wooden pier; gasping for air, praying for water, all called mercy by captor hellbent on righteous self-belief. human bends to cradle you, flex your spines as instinct — you clash with molded plywood. thin-ripped gleam of dripping flesh cannot repay for gouged gills or broken jawbone; human hisses as hand comes away crimson, curses you. you are ungrateful even in presence of good-will. they will reconsider next time you find yourself hooked. go: tumble into water, oxygen uptake now almost inadequate.