The Blood Moon

By Kieron Walquist

In the black wax of midnight, she floats in the sky. Hungry for blood. Always starving.

We hunt for the moon, our mother. We lure boys and girls into the trees by a siren song too sweet to shake. Upon a stone altar, they die screaming. And under her frosty flame, we dance, naked but bathed in red, howling.

It’s the price we pay. For youth. For beauty. Continue reading

A Toll Road Apart

By Debra S. Levy

It was time to say good-bye. Much as Alison hated leave-takings, this was even worse; a few hours earlier they’d just said hello.

While their boyfriends talked directions and best routes, she and Davina stood in the driveway, silent for the first time all day. That afternoon they’d leaned over Davina’s kitchen table into the minutia of their respective lives, talking, talking.

Their friendship had begun years ago, in college. As roommates, they’d talked and laughed late into the night, telling stories, sharing dreams–the latter, they’d learned, were so jarringly alike as to be spooky. Then two weeks into the semester came the long-distance call; Alison’s mother was dying and she was needed at home. Continue reading

Rainy Night

By Robert Lackey

The litter-clogged drains overflowed onto the sidewalks. My left shoe let in the rain, soaking the shredded newspaper under my foot. I usually put my good sock on that foot when it’s wet out, but last night was mild. I still had my thin sock with the big-ass hole on my left foot.

Shit. Continue reading

Author Profile: Tamara Linden

How and when did you decide, or discover, that you were to be a writer?

I started writing stories almost as soon as I learned to hold a pencil, but I started writing “seriously” about two years ago when I started tutoring for a living. The flexibility of my job allows me to focus a lot more on writing, which we all know takes quite a lot of time and energy.  Continue reading

The Captive

By Tamara Linden

There’s food. They throw a few crusts of stale bread into the cage and laugh as we fight over them. A dirty, stubbled knee smashes into my face as I reach into the melee with one hand and shove aside a frail old woman with the other. My hand closes spasmodically around a small piece but, as I bring the prize to my lips, another girl tries to snatch it from me.  I jerk away and bite her grasping fingers, lips pulled back from my teeth. She glares at me and rubs her hand, like I’ve done something rude, like she has every right to my food. I glare back and chew as slowly as possible, both to make it last and to rub it in the thief’s face. I hope they sell her soon. She’s been a steadily growing pain in my ass for weeks now. Continue reading

Author Profile: Harvey Steinberg

How and when did you decide, or discover, that you were to be a writer?

Let me say what caused me not  to write, before I picked it up again. In my mid-twenties, married with two infant daughters, I quit my job, desperate to write a play — the first half of which I accomplished before running out of money. Scared, to say the least, I swore off creative writing until many years went by. So now I’m at it again, my grandsons in their late twenties. Continue reading

Norbert’s Memoir

By Harvey Steinberg

There was just enough space in the bank’s private lock-box room for Norbert to write his memoirs.

He finished a paragraph with: ‘I was an innocent child.’

Norbert mindlessly flipped open his lock-box Number 426.  He couldn’t resist thumbing through its documents. His bonds, his stocks. Mortgage papers, many papers. Papers, papers, a cascade that displayed what he had figured out, but not the boyhood that hadn’t taken figuring out.

Leaving quickly, he muttered, “Not again. Memoirs are too much for me,” his back in pain, and the metal box filled with his steadily maturing instruments felt heavier than ever.


Harvey’s widely eclectic experience — vocational, civic, personal — includes organization management, politics, writing, visual arts, teaching, physical tasks. At the heart of them all lie his never-still, fertile imagination and ethical commitment. Harvey is a native of New York City and in the latter half of his life resides in New Jersey.