by Mileva Anastasiadou Sharon McCutcheon At first, the earth is cut into pieces. As if it were a steak hard to chew. That certainly takes you by surprise, you and everyone else, and feels surreal, like living in a dystopic film, a film you may enjoy viewing, yet the remote is stuck, you can’t change channels. You aren’t your usual self, after you turn into a tiny molecule of that tiny piece, only some pieces are bigger than others, safer than others, and you look around, seei

by Mileva Anastasiadou Karolina Bobek Start by carrying a Christmas tree and carry it wherever you go, add fairy lights at will, yet not too early, or Christmas won’t rise, as cakes won’t rise if you’re hasty, or not careful, but that isn’t a problem, for you’re making Christmas, not cakes. Heat up some hope in a saucepan, then stir hope with kindness, a rare ingredient, yet necessary, and stir well and hard, until hope is smooth and creamy. Add cheesy commercials and songs

by Mileva Anastasiadou Ricardo Cruz This is a story running backwards. Backwards is the way to comprehension. Things happen forwards, yet causality can only be understood in hindsight. Alex stands there, holding a knife, his hands covered with blood. He put the knife into his father’s stomach and now his father’s lying on the floor. Alex checks his pulse, only he can’t feel anything. He can’t be sure his father is dead; he’s only twelve for god’s sake. It could be an accident