For many years, saying “No” hadn’t occurred to me. “No? What do you mean, no?” Red-faced, finger pointing, she straightened her back. “I demand . . . demand you make love to me.” “I no longer feel the same way,” I told her. And it was true. I’d watched her grow bitter with age, … Continue reading When We Sleep We Kill The World by Adam Lock
Father told me not to fall in love with a man but I was young and no one could tell me anything. The world of foxes was little hunts, little gossip, the little victory of stealing a cardboard take-out box of Moo Shu Pork. The world of men was so large that they men would … Continue reading The Fox, Expatriate by Emily Horner
The fingers welcome you first. No, not fingers, despite their grip. Twigs. Green, if you snap them. Still alive. You don’t feel that way, almost to the door. How many times have you dreamed of not going back? Of saws and the echo of an empty field? The twigs tousle your hair. You hate it. … Continue reading Milk Teeth and Heartwood by Kathryn McMahon
These are the elements of the plague: (1) POINT OF ORIGIN Nothing comes from nothing; this is the cornerstone of all truth. The plague of Thucydides comes from Ethiopia; that of Procopius from Egypt; that of Boccaccio is sea-swept from the dawn toward the setting sun. Virgil’s descends from a diseased sky. Is it the … Continue reading The Elements of the Plague by Julia August
They say if you spot the shape of a dragon in the clouds, you’ve witnessed one being born. That’s where it all starts—high, high away. Dad used to tell me stories about dragons. Stories about why they hurt people and where they go when they disappear. Sad stories, I always thought, despite the sweet smell … Continue reading High, High Away by Hamilton Perez
Uncle Walt was never the same after his brain operation, and the new magical kingdoms he spun made children everywhere cry hot tears. Children everywhere cried “Shouldn’t there be a palace, Uncle Walt? What is that horrid black building with the barbed wire?” Children, that was the Palace. A stark black box. Fluorescent glare spilled … Continue reading Tale Without Fairies by Matthew F. Amati
We fell the trees. The heart-leaves grow proud here, despite the cold earth and beating rains that should keep them humble. They rend the skies, and so we tear their thick trunks with the axes the stone shapers bring us each day. They fall and we move on, always north, while the elders dig up … Continue reading The Spinnings by Rob Francis
Syntax & Salt Magazine is very pleased to announce the arrival of Halloween 2017 with this special piece, an invocation of sorts, by Mariel Tishman. Cats and crows and sidewalk cracks, little curses that pass between us two. We glide by each other on the street, our glares sparking, like flint on steel. Sometimes I … Continue reading Wax and Wane by Mariel Tishma
Aground, Upon the Sand by Jennifer R. Donohue is the Syntax & Salt Fall Flash Contest 1st place winner. I say I don’t remember where I came from, because I must. After the storm, I can’t go back, and it’s impossible for me to explain what I really am, what my life was. People try to … Continue reading Aground, Upon the Sand by Jennifer R. Donohue
Feðgin by Wendy Wimmer is the Syntax & Salt Fall Flash Contest 2nd place winner. The darkness makes everything risky, every step fraught with invisible scuttling, chittering and struggling away of tiny creatures—mouse, perhaps, terrestrial bird imagined—or invisible elves—under step. We are near Bárðarbunga, Iceland, a recently quiet volcano, and in the distance, a house that was once a house, … Continue reading Feðgin by Wendy Wimmer