apex magazine

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ByAllison Mills

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Indigenous Futurists Editorial

My grandfather was a poet. Not one you’ve heard of—his work was never widely distributed—but a poet nonetheless. He wrote about his family, about my grandmother, and about his spirituality—things that were personal to him—but his writing was always contained…

ByPamela Rentz

Security Breach at Sugar Pine Suites

She did the sleeping room first, fast and mechanical. New arrivals spent time in Gloria’s torturous training room where they practiced bed linen exchange, bath sanitizing, and launder cycles while Gloria railed on them about pride and efficiency as if being fast at cleaning was the ultimate Native pride.

ByYohanca Delgado

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The Rat

My mother looked nothing like this woman, but my mind is pulled back into the undertow of her anyway. I see her in the days before she died, her shrunken frame nearly swallowed by white bedding and overstuffed pillows. She sits up as if she’s just remembered something. “Pass me my lipstick,” she says. Cherries in the Snow. Even without a mirror, her hands are steady and she draws on the red pout, smooth and sure. She blots her lips together and says, “That’s better.” Says, “Take a photo to remember me by.”

ByRachel Swirsky

Wake Up, I Miss You

The noise wakes the trees outside the hospital window. They stretch and shake out their leaves. A dislodged sparrow turns toward me and gapes open its beak. It squawks “beep beep beep” and I realize it’s been doing that the whole time. There are other noises, too—a distant, distorted voice like a conductor shouting into a bad mic—are we near a train station?

ByD. Thomas Minton

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Gift for the Cutter Man

The blade of Legrue’s scalpel flared in his headlamp’s narrow beam, casting glints of light across the slender hand strapped to his cutting table.

ByMaggie Slater

Candyland

When Tara awoke Thursday morning, her pillow had turned to marshmallow, gooey from the warmth of her head and the sunshine blazing through the window. Fruit rollup blankets slicked her legs with psychedelic slime. The mattress, now a soft-baked blondie with white chocolate chips, was permanently indented by her ass.

ByKen MacGregor

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Flesh Eggs

Cruising through western Michigan toward the lake for a family outing, under flawless spring skies and passing the odd barn or silo, a sign catches my eye, half-obscured by a huge lilac bush: Flesh Eggs.

ByJason Sanford

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The Ever-Dreaming Verdict of Plagues

Crista nodded calmly but Red Day shrieked inside her, eager to enact its justice on this self-admitted killer. As Red Day’s anger exploded, the AI seized control of Crista’s right hand and grabbed one of her knives. With a shout of no, Crista ran up the stairs. After bolting the cellar door shut she stumbled to the porch and vomited.

ByAndrea Johnson

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Interview with Author Joelle Wellington

Enjoy our featured interview with author Joelle Wellington.