To a tiny part of you, this setting is familiar. These hard chairs built a little too small, with their desk flaps scarred by years upon years of pocketknife graffiti, rows on rows slanting down between aisles of threadbare carpet to the stage with its smooth-worn planks and its decades-old curtain and its faded elementary school logo marring the cinder block at the front of the stage platform.
Read MoreThe QuiltmakerHe was known by whites on both sides of the Atlantic as “the Indian Bonaparte,” “the Indian Wellington,” and even “the Indian King Arthur”—all sincere compliments from an Anglo perspective—even before his tragic battlefield death in 1813 ensured that his life and myth would remain inextricably bound together.
Read MoreThe Once and Future Chief: Tecumseh in (Science) FictionViola watched the unconscious man trapped inside the transparent cube. He would wake soon. She counted down the seconds until his eyelids fluttered. The sedative’s dosage had been precisely timed. Her engineering background gave her the skills to systematically plan every detail.
Read MoreThe Invisible BoxAn interview with our cover artist.
Read MoreInterview with Author James BeamonHe presses pause and life stops. The trucker in the red and black flannel shirt at the counter is stuck in mid chew of a meatloaf that was never meant to linger. The young woman in the blue jeans and white blouse holds an angry fist over a jukebox infamous for taking payment while withholding songs.
Read MoreSoliloquy in a Cheap Diner Off Route 66My mother had daughters year after year, and one by one, my father devoured us.
Read MoreThe Dark BirdsYou didn’t mean to do it but the rumble of the train stretched around your shoulders like an arm, spiraled deliciously down your spine. You were alone in the car and your reflection flickered in the window across the aisle. The city lights on the other side of the glass sparkled like stray glitter dusted over your face.
Read MoreNext Station, ShibuyaWelcome to issue 92!
Read MoreWords from the Editor-in-Chief
It starts with a bang. Those of us awake scurry for cover; those sleeping jump wide-eyed. Five peep out of shoebox nests. Only Mag remains halfway, still part-drowning in dreams.
Read MoreMag, the Habitat and We