Short Fiction
Izzy Wasserstein

This Shattered Vessel, Which Holds Only Grief

Cassie pulls her hood low over her forehead, keeps her eyes on the ground ahead of her. She wears face paint meant to fool facial recognition algorithms, though the cops think she’s dead. Her friends are. She should be.

Read More »
Short Fiction
Izzy Wasserstein

The Crafter at the Web’s Heart

When I was little, I’d lay in Ma’s arms and listen to her stories. Beneath us, the web swayed so gently, you could almost forget it was there.

Read More »