the fertility scan

CREATIVE NON-FICTION

by Leah Mele-Bazaz

Whenever I knew a doctor would be inside of me, I'd shower and shave as a courtesy like I was about to get laid, but not this time around. I had so much sex over the past year during my peak ovulation that I had no energy left. All I wanted to do was beg the fertility specialist, "What's wrong with me?" . . .

sweet spot

creative non-fiction

by Jennifer Shields

I knew when I hit the sweet spot. The crack of stick against ball at just the right pitch, contact reverberating up like lightning, pulsing in my palms and throughout my whole being. Fluid and missile-like, the hardball soared, surpassing centerfield, and thwarting the opponent’s goal attempt. . . .

zynball

creative non-fiction

by Sy Holmes

On this ridge near the Idaho border, which has a name I’ve already forgotten, the forward progress of time has stopped. Maybe just here. Maybe everywhere. Maybe back in Missoula, bartenders are stuck mid-pour. Maybe in Shanghai the traffic is stuck. Maybe nothing will ever happen again. Sure feels like it. . . .

the space around her

creative non-fiction

by Linda Briskin

The photograph arrived by email—out of the blue. It was an ordinary picture but taken more than fifty years ago, a snap from the days when images were developed at the corner drugstore. I wondered why David, a distant friend from high school, sent it. We hadn’t been in touch for decades. . . .

too cold out for that dog

creative non-fiction

by Matt Starr

I live in what is generally considered a “nice” town—various magazines and websites have, in fact, called it a “nice” town—but if I’ve learned anything it’s that people are shitty all over. I’ll give you an example. I run a lot. All over town. Any time of day, any time of year. I have to if I want to keep my discipline, if I don’t want the screws to come loose. . . .

a view of the nave

fiction

by Kevin Grauke

Jack and his little brother Henry hated church. They hated it because they hated dressing up. They hated it because all the grownups seemed so fake, like they were acting in a play about how to be on your best behavior. The worst was how everyone would chuckle quietly whenever the minister smiled and said something that was supposed to be funny. . . .

my passion

fiction

by Gary Duehr

I am not a bad man. I am not an evil man. Despite what you may have read about me in the papers, you must believe me. I have a particular passion, as many do, which I find myself following, despite all obstacles that have been thrown in my path. It is la mia passione, to use the Italian construction. . . .

peach of how to befriend a tailor

fiction

by Tyler Dillow

I’m not too careful when I fall in love. I’ll drive my light blue Peugeot 404 for hours through the hills through the small towns and villages scattered across the country. These are the places I like to be. I think about the song my father’s friend used to sing. These are the places I belong. . . .