(Featured posts)
Written By: Chester Rogalski Forty years I was a deacon at First Calvary. They’re tearing her down now, but it’s still good of you to go about collecting her history.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Mar 02, 2026
Written By: Jackie Massaro Inspired by true events Her hand trails down my back, her fingers like a belt along the side of my waist. She was excited to see me. She had told me so the whole week in text messages and on phone calls. I can't wait to see you. I miss you.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 25, 2026
Written By: Michael Sussman “Do you live?” It was Lyuba’s hoarse rasp through the crack in the cave wall separating their pits.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 24, 2026
Written By: Heather Drain Los Angeles. 1983. Theo looked at the ebbing streaks of sunset melting into the ocean. The sky's last shades of blue were slowly being swallowed by deeper and darker colors.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Arden Falker Canvas wrapped in a vortex of arms. Ripping wounds and clawing skin I bite the bit to feel a signal.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Hansen Adcock Never eaten cauliflower, it doesn't do anything for me. My grandmother made an excellent thistle soup. Or was it nettles? Never got stung once.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Teege Braune I awoke with a runny nose and congested sinuses, the kind of throbbing, itchy discomfort that seems to extend from one’s face like a keratinized outgrowth and puts in one’s mind the apt nomenclature “rhinovirus.”
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Allison Noonan I. Autolysis Nothing wakes you up at eight in the morning like the smell of death.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 21, 2026
Written By: Adara Schwartz Each night, my husband sleeps on his back with his hands crossed over his chest, as though he is in a coffin.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 21, 2026
Written By: Martin Taulbut It was almost nine when Linda stepped off the bus at Holyrood. Shivering, she buttoned up her blue serge jacket and strode to the studded wooden gates.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 11, 2026
Written By: Spencer Rohloff What a lovely grave I’d dug! The ground was soft from last night’s rain and came up easy by the spadeful. Springtime fragrance filled my nose and all I smelt was sweetness. I would have enjoyed this more if not for the two boys prattling behind me.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 11, 2026
Written By: Luke Barron The Body lies still. It lies in its grave, rotting and fraying in its flesh, soil and muck soaking up the spoils of its decay as it stays lifeless and deceased...
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 10, 2026
Written By: Patrick Joel Quinif “Oh, babe, you’ve got…” Tom pointed to the spot on her neck. “Is that a scratch? You’ve gotta be careful about that.” He turned his vacant gaze back to his burrito, took a too-big bite, and stared at the television, bits of rice clinging to his greasy beard.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 10, 2026
Written By: Spencer Keene I was weaned, at the ripe age of three, off of formula and onto offal, blood-drenched giblets of gizzard, liver, and disemboweled windpipe.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 10, 2026
Written By Kaitlin Milliken-Flohr She used to brush my hair. Mom running my fine strands between boar bristles, ever so gently. In the morning, she twisted sections into braids. At night, she dragged her fingers through to undo her work. We rarely touched.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 30, 2026
Written By: N.Z.Thorne PRELUDE: CHANGE A nine year old girl, sat on a large tree stump in a lush, green meadow. She wore a blue sundress, and her long, wavy black hair was held back by a single snap clip that kept her bangs out of her eyes. She sat there, seemingly upset and crying.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 30, 2026
Written By: John Grey Flashlight under chin, his face is a ghost and at such a young age.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 29, 2026
Written By: M.D. Smith IV The GPS flickered, chirped like a dying insect, and went blank. Eric laughed and kept driving. “It’ll come back. It always does.” Shirley didn’t laugh. Southern Mississippi had thinned into something older and heavier.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 29, 2026
Written By: Pam Avoledo She has an edge inside her skeleton poking out from her ribs. It appeared after she coughed and coughed for months.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 26, 2026
Written by: Norman Goodman “I’m giving away a Yamaha VMAX. This is not a joke. My younger brother Marko died on it just a week ago. Nothing in life would make me happier than for this infernal machine to carry yet another careless soul to death.”
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 10, 2026
Written by: Graham Smith | It was a crime scene — an especially bad one by St. Mary’s standards. The quiet village, nestled in picturesque cottage country, saw no more than thirty deaths per year.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Oct 19, 2025
Written by: Saint Nick | I wish to speak with the dead. I long to hold conversations with rotting loved ones. Long to be face to face with their corpses, listening carefully while they speak the indecipherable words of a cadaverous language, a language which is carefully composed of corpse logic.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Oct 19, 2025
Written by: Megan Rach “It’s the worst I’ve ever seen. There’s hardly anything solid left.” The scientist motions toward the door. “You can go in, but I’m telling you now, you’re going to want to put some equipment on.”
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Oct 04, 2025
Written by: Emily Decloux His eyes were like black glass when I met him. But I don’t know what else I was expecting. After so many sleepless nights wondering if it was true, my suspicions were finally confirmed. It doesn’t make a difference anyway, no one would ever believe me.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Oct 04, 2025
Written by: Graham Smith AG Number 989204902, District A458. MFG 2023. Display incomplete. I can’t see your spectrum of colour. At least not until the next update. My input data is a greyscale map, assigning values to visible light.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Oct 04, 2025
(Latest posts)
(34 Posts)
Written By: Chester Rogalski Forty years I was a deacon at First Calvary. They’re tearing her down now, but it’s still good of you to go about collecting her history.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Mar 02, 2026
Written By: Jackie Massaro Inspired by true events Her hand trails down my back, her fingers like a belt along the side of my waist. She was excited to see me. She had told me so the whole week in text messages and on phone calls. I can't wait to see you. I miss you.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 25, 2026
Written By: Michael Sussman “Do you live?” It was Lyuba’s hoarse rasp through the crack in the cave wall separating their pits.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 24, 2026
Written By: Arden Falker Sleepwalking toward an old oak door in slippers I forgot that I put on.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 24, 2026
Written By: Heather Drain Los Angeles. 1983. Theo looked at the ebbing streaks of sunset melting into the ocean. The sky's last shades of blue were slowly being swallowed by deeper and darker colors.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026