Red Eye

Mark Lyons

At thirty-six she has never had a man fall asleep with his head on her shoulder. She has never been touched before. Not like that. Not by a man. Or a woman.

When She Could Fly

Natalie Zellat Dyen

A curly-haired man in a black suit stood on a hilltop, holding hands with a woman who floated above him wearing a dress the color of grape juice.

“That’s Marc Chagall and me.”

Not Yet

Amy Small-McKinney

if there is one thing I know
it’s this storm how rain sloshed over