Short Fiction
Russell Nichols

To Live and Die in Dixieland

The subtext stings with a scary familiarity: how he longs to be seen, how he justifies his loneliness, how he conflates abuse with affection, as Kamara had done time and time again with past boyfriends—and would be still if her therapist didn’t guide her to a path of self-worth.

Read More »
Short Fiction
Russell Nichols

Blood on Beacon Hill

The black boy on trial smells the blood. That sweet, sweet hemoglobin, boiling now under the blushed skins of the dying race. He can smell mousse, too, and putrid sweat.

Read More »