• Fiction
  • Poetry
  • Nonfiction

Children of Itzamná

Our automated limo came to a stop at the last security zone. “Now play the part, Malinal,” I said, fingers casually running down the front of my strapless bodice...

Profession of Faith

The old satellite dish   technology’s word made whole in mute obsolescence stands   motor frozen...

Fiction

For a Few Tins of Food

The gun aimed at my chest gleams in the violent sunset.
I raise my hands, “You don’t want to do that.”…

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Poetry

Profession of Faith

The old satellite dish
  technology’s word made whole
in mute obsolescence stands
  motor frozen…

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Nonfiction

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