“The Woman Who Makes My Salad” By LilyAnne Rice
It occurred to me the other day that I don’t know your name even though you wear a name tag. I never even bothered to …
The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged.
It occurred to me the other day that I don’t know your name even though you wear a name tag. I never even bothered to …
I was five years old when I first kissed a girl. Her name was Juliana and it happened during my kindergarten recess, on the sand …
Wait, it isn’t Monday! Yeah, well I’m about to drop some news on you suckas. It fits pretty solidly into the good news/bad news/okay news …
Without Roots Without Roots this Ikea bed supports me just about as well as a twig supports a tree house Glue sticks Paper thin is …
How to Become a Professional Writer (And Get Paid Too) It sounds like a headline too good to be true, right? Finding a good writing …
She wanders through the streets past midnight. They assume it’s too dangerous for her. It isn’t because anyone who would harm her is asleep. She, …
It’s funny how there are different kinds of tears. Tired ones that creep from the corners of your eyes, brushed away with impatient fingers; dry, …
She looks at the ground, the sky, the trees; anywhere but her own heart. She must, at all costs, keep the poison from entering her …
To the rail Taken under duress, mid congress, my petticoats torn, I find myself bound to the track. Ostensibly, for ransom. But who pray tell, …
Last week in the park, a small, violent dog kept sniffing the ass of a much larger, more docile dog. The sniff was aggressive and strangely …
One girl bakes a hundred cupcakes and gives them away for free. One girl wastes perfectly good eggs on a car. One girl’s dog gets …
The needle pricks my skin and I gasp as I shake out my hand. A little speck of red blood lands on the grey flooring. …
Out by the creek behind our home, the moon and stars reflect off the water, and Bandile would often go out there. The trees were …
My room is black as an Olympic runner—except for the illuminated screen of my Sony Vaio which radiates like Chernobyl. My laptop is cherry red; …
She led me out of my house in the middle of the night. I went with her because she was moving away the next day, …
The first time I tried to ride a two wheel bike, I remember my dad running alongside my six-year-old self as I swerved down the …
Wil Deas lives and writes in the city of Los Angeles with his cat Murder Mittens. A recent graduate of Chapman University, Wil is doing …
Hey guys, happy hump day (or at least it was when I started this). I just wanted to take this opportunity to talk about art. …
They Sleek bold bodybound by expectationsby gendered declarationsforced to function in conversationssplit in twain by ‘his’ + ‘her’, no ‘they’ How to navigate this intimate …
He comes for honey, sweetness of the meaty earth he plants his flag in. Sunlight pollinates the horizon with gold. He moves like a rolling …
Please never call me that. Why did I call myself that? As of now, there is no deadline for when we’re going to start publishing …
No one ever said it would be easy being writers. Instead, we heard things like, “So what do you plan to do with your degree? …