Author: Heavy Feather

“We Sink Like Ships,” a story by Chelsea Laine Wells

This is what I learned: in the seconds after death, do nothing. Hold still and let it beat past into permanence because in the seconds after death everything is flayed open to the softest nerve-strung tissue and any move you make, any word you say, anything you touch will live forever on the end of…
Four Poems by Martin Ott

Dead Man Lying The difference between life and death is the same broken line between truth and lies. Time defines both. History holds the mantras of liars and recasts them in our history books. The walking dead has never been about zombies. Our reporters hurry to unearth time machines before the damned redraw the circles…
Two Poems by Rob Cook

My Bugs O daddy long legs in the orchids and wisteria, how you make my cock-cells swell! O caterpillar cubs folded in the fern petals, you are lovely as shoulders tied with ribbons and valentine nettles! That’s what she slipped into my ear when I told her my life was ruined by insects. “They said…
Two Poems by Jeremy Griffin

Pink Hibiscus You buried the hibiscus in the swath of untended earthwhere each summer morningthe mangy calicowho suns itself on the sidewalkshits and then kicks it overwith sand as if it’s even possibleto disguise what we leavebehind. You aerated the crumbled earthwith the shovel blade, churned itover on itself like the tracks of deadskin carved…
Three Poems by Phil Spotswood

growing up on TR84 You are shown a series of pictures by the visiting Earthmen: a blank crucifix, a doll with a missing eye, and a sunset bleeding in the ocean. The crucifix and the doll mean nothing to you, for they are products of a life sprung from the bones of an elephant graveyard.…
“Everything Is Good Here, Too”: Fiction by Jen Michalski

Your sister calls. You rent a car and come as soon as you can. Grass peeks between sidewalk squares outside your mother’s house, squares no longer able to hold the chalk of your hopscotch, of your sunflowers and stick figure ribbon-haired girls. A water-rotted shingle, a twisted drainpipe, hint at chaos within. A collective wheeze,…
Fiction: Miles Klee’s “The Milkman’s Exhaustion”

Conventionally handsome, but why the fuss over that? He’s nothing special, nothing unique. There exist a million men who have his kind of beauty. Perhaps that’s why it is in such high demand. His truck runs perfectly, never stalls. Purrs at the curb like a big dumb cat. Milk bottles clink in his milk bottle…
“The Me/Not Me Game”: Uzodinma Okehi Talks with Elizabeth Ellen

I shouldn’t just say we’ve all had those moments. Who’s we? And speak for yourself, right? So I can tell you, there’s a part of my life so clouded, fraught with delusion, so much more about my own failings, probably, more than any particular woman, or girl—skip the romance, jump cut right to screaming, howling…
“There’s Another Side to D. Foy, and It’s Absolutely Golden, but Don’t Take My Word for It, Just Listen to My Mother-in-Law”: Susie Burch Interviewed by Jordan A. Rothacker

D. Foy’s first two novels are not light, to say the least. Made to Break (Two Dollar Radio, 2014) and Patricide (Stalking Horse Press, 2016) tackle dysfunctional friendships, betrayal, dysfunctional families, abusive fathers, pre-teen drug use, violence, death, depression, and more violence. However, both received rave reviews and rocketed Foy into indie publishing darling status,…