Slash Magazine Contributor

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.

Written By: Arden Falker Canvas wrapped in a vortex of arms. Ripping wounds and clawing skin I bite the bit to feel a signal.

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.

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.”

Written By: Allison Noonan I. Autolysis Nothing wakes you up at eight in the morning like the smell of death.

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.