Don’t know where to start?
To inspire you for our current call for submissions, here is our team’s list of authors and artists you should definitely check out when it comes to the theme of Liberation:
Read More »Submissions Now Open
Submissions to our webzine have officially reopened! 😊
We invite you to send us your contribution to our theme call Liberation in the form of writing, visual art, music or basically anything up until November 30 2026.
Read our submission guidelines carefully here before sending us your work. 😉
Read More »My Guilty Conscience Weeps
by Elsa Nichols
Forgive me for growing silent.
I still care. I always cared. In fact,
I care too much.
Read More »Helicopter Blues
by Neil Weiner
I lie on my back staring at the ceiling, the names circling like military rotor blades that won’t shut off.
Apache.
Black Hawk.
Kiowa.
Chinook.
Iroquois.
Cayuse.
Sioux.
Shawnee.
Choctaw.
Cheyenne.
Lakota.
Each one lands heavier than the last. They call them machines, but I hear nations. Histories. People who bled, who prayed, who endured. Now their names are stamped onto gunships cutting through the sky.
Read More »the jade emperor
by Felicia Tsao
Read More »an imperial reminder of revolutions to come and the ones that landed at their feet
Symphony for Piano and Fire
by Maysam Kandej and Bill Tope
Maysam was a writer from Iran. For three months, he had dreamed of this trip. He had met an American writer, Mr. Robert Hawley, online. They emailed about books and writing. One day, Mr. Hawley kindly invited Maysam to visit him in America.
Now, Maysam was here. On his second night, he was invited to dinner at the Hawleys’ large, beautiful home in an exclusive gated community known as The Village. He was nervous. As a Muslim, he did not eat pork or drink alcohol, but he did not want to explain his religion. He wanted to be a normal guest.
Read More »Monologue / Field Notes
by Lynsey France
they say recovery is trying twice
when blood dries, gnats swarming the only sentence that’s safe to
return to
I am still waking from my last death because you will not forget her
Read More »A Girl Named Lana
by Mark Smeltzer
A wounded girl sneaks through the algorithm.
A bullet burrows under the root of her ponytail,
Copper tic swelling at the base of her skull.
A blue glove bears her arm to give or take fluids.
She faces, stony, away on a rare hospital bed.
Someone Who Watches
by Foster Trecost
It was my first day.
Awkward introductions. Handshakes held a second too long. Then parked in a cubicle. The computer insisted on my attention, but the desk drawers won that battle. I pulled open the top. Empty, except for a few paperclips. Nothing in the next. The bottom bin, larger than the first two, contained only a coiled ethernet cable. I moved to close it, but stopped. Something more. Beneath the cable, a folded note. Hard-pressed pencil. Block letters.
Read More »