Tag: writers

Courtesy Never Dies

the.amazineLeave a comment

by P. A. Farrell

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

No one told me I would be using a walker, hunched over those curved aluminum handles and hoping the brakes on the wheels would hold, but that’s life. You never know what it’s going to throw at you, and you’ve got to be ready to catch it with both hands and draw it toward your chest so it doesn’t fall to the floor. But today, the bus jostled, slamming me into a pole. A man sneered at me, “They shouldn’t let people like you on the bus!” Yeah, people like me, with walkers.

A slow slog from the bus stop sends stabs of pain to my ankle, but I push on. Good thing my folding friend has wheels. I don’t think I could pick it up. Each slab of the sidewalk is daring me forward. The beast is waiting, and I’ve got to gather my strength, so I take it slow to save my breath and prepare. 

Read More »

Concord Purple on the Sunrise

the.amazineLeave a comment

by Pran Phucharoenyos

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

The thunderhead is willing to break any and all windows because there’s no insurance around, and still, I take a blue car out West. The way I brought myself down to California— you would have been proud. 

I leave Enchanted Wells adjacent to Rainbow Blvd and across from Wishing Coin Road and other counterfeit fairytale worlds Nevadan roads titled themselves after. The Santa Ana reports here that this boulevard I’m residing in contains steamed rainbows from kitchen sink dishwashers and the youthful and overly sentimental scent of a clean glass picked up from the cabinet reminds me to bring water when I leave to lie flat on backyard artificial grass as if I’m in wait for a high danger surgery as the southwest sticks on my sunscreened legs. 

Read More »

I Could Be Modern Art

the.amazine1 Comment

by Natalie Hunter

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

I used to care so much about my body hair. I remember the face-melting shame I felt when a boy at school announced loudly that I had hairy arms, while we coloured pictures at a table. But, when I think of it now, it is just a memory of a memory. I feel detached from the experience. I grew up with plenty of unconditional love at home. Therefore, I knew intrinsically that my value was inherent and unshakable … at home. Like so many people in this world, it took venturing out into the world for school, to initiate the confusing experience of being “othered.” Some years later, at the age of fourteen, I would stand in front of the mirror enumerating every single thing that was unacceptable about my beautiful, youthful body, as if identifying the offending aberrations could bring me closer to perfection. It amuses me to think of that fourteen-year-old seeing me now, two weeks from my fortieth birthday, thinking, “How could you let yourself become so ugly?” 

Read More »

Catching Cars

the.amazineLeave a comment

by Stacia Laroche

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

Back when I was a 12-year old living in the warm rays of my youthful golden days, I used to sit on my rickety front porch steps with a disposable camera in hand taking pictures of every classic car that drove down our suburban street. The first car I ever captured was a 1957 Buick Roadmaster. 

I was captivated by that car because driving it in a time period that it didn’t belong in meant you were taking a risk. It was a deep green, the same shade that belonged to leaves in the forest after returning from the winter. The kind you don’t remember seeing blossom. All of a sudden they’re just there again. 

Read More »

My Lily

the.amazineLeave a comment

by Chase Wootton

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

As I looked over the bridge, hundreds of feet above the waters, I couldn’t decide which was more beautiful: her, or the sunset. It unfolded in front of me — a splash of red, gold, and orange across the sky, as if a godly chef had sprinkled oranges, pineapples, and cherries across the heavens. The wind was cool and peaceful, the sky clear of rain, snow, or dreary weather. In front of me, there was only beauty, only color, only depth of goodness.

Read More »

Submissions Stats 2025/I

the.amazineLeave a comment

From 3. 3. 2025 to 5. 5. 2025, we received 283 submitted pieces from 129 authors/artists, with the acceptance rate of 50% for contributors and 32% for their pieces. 

Stat we love? The number of those, submitting for a second (or more) time: over 25! We’re extremely touched by your trust <3

And the precise numbers per genre?

Read More »

April in Summer

the.amazineLeave a comment

by Hachi Chuku

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

April Elizabeth Randall was the kind of girl that you just couldn’t help yourself being endeared to. Her delicate saccharine features complemented her sanguine personality so that you couldn’t frown at her for longer than a few seconds. When she turned to walk away, you dreamt of the moment in which your paths might cross again. I met her at the library in my hometown of Manhattan, Kansas when the leaves were still a brilliant green; not yet blushing from the promise of winter. I had a job working at the library on the campus of Kansas State, a work study position that allowed me to have my nose in a book when I wasn’t manning the shelves or doing sudoku puzzles.

She walked up to me carefully, wearing an orange tube top and high waisted flared jeans and asked me gently where she could find books on houseplant keeping.

Read More »

Seven Minutes

the.amazineLeave a comment

A Short Play

by Ben Macnair

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

‏

SETTING: A train platform early morning. Two benches sit parallel to the tracks. The sound of distant trains and occasional station announcements fills the air.

CHARACTERS:
BARRY – 55, wearing a slightly wrinkled business suit, briefcase at his feet
IRIS – 80, elegantly dressed in dated clothing, holding a small bouquet of flowers

Read More »

Legacy

the.amazineLeave a comment

by Huina Zheng

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

‏During the turbulent years of the Cultural Revolution, Grandma would close the worn wooden door when night fell.

Lying in bed, Grandma and Mom were gently wrapped in darkness. In a soft voice, Grandma told my young mother ancient folktales and historical stories, all of which her own mother had told her: the story of Nuwa, who made humans out of yellow earth and water; the tale of Meng Jiangnu, who wept for her husband, who had died while building the Great Wall. Her tears moved Heaven and Earth, causing a section of the Wall to collapse, revealing her husband’s remains; and the story of Jingwei, who drowned in the Eastern Sea and transformed into a bird, tirelessly bringing stones and twigs to fill the sea, vowing to avenge her drowning.

Read More »

Drummer

the.amazineLeave a comment

by Dane Erbach

‏‏‎ ‎

“Harder!” Joe shouts from his podium, yells over violin bows stuck in the air like an unruly haircut. “Hit that bass drum as hard as you can!”

The orchestra spins toward me—rows of smarmy teenage smiles, annoyed; of middle schoolers wild with amusement, squirming their chairs.

“Have you ever heard Jurassic Park’s soundtrack?” Joe asks, his bald head shining in the fluorescent light. “The big BOOM at the beginning?”

Read More »