• Fiction

    A Thousand, Thousand Wishes

    by L.J. Bosela Dandelions are a generally misunderstood flower. I think that is why I like them. Amah told me once, when I was just a child, that I was like a dandelion- brightly golden, in laughter and in countenance, set amidst a dark and solemn family, and like a dandelion, I was indefatigable in my tenacity at life. She didn’t mean it as a compliment. I knew that. But I took it as one. Growing up, children all love dandelions. It is only when your soul grows old and tired – tired of the drudgery we humans are so apt to turn our life into – that you see…

  • Nonfiction

    Hang Loose

    by Crystal Dalison After my island cruiser of a car finally succumbed to its lifetime of abuse, I had to hitchhike to work every day. Because I lived out in the jungle, down a sparsely populated dirt road, my morning commute usually involved a lot of walking. Crazy as it may sound, I didn’t mind it too much. Don’t let anyone tell you that hitchhiking on the island is easy, because it isn’t, but it can be a lot of fun – especially if you happen upon a consistent ride like I did. Even though she was always alone when she picked me up, I always sat in the back…

  • Nonfiction

    Change Your Mind

    by Garrett Okonek Psychology has been similar to medicine for a long time. Both have traditionally looked for illnesses in patients, then have used specific treatments formulated for those ailments. In medicine, the focus is on sicknesses of the body, which are tangible and are usually caused by a specific thing, such as a virus or an injury. However, psychologists deal with sicknesses of the mind. Mental illness is sometimes caused by specific things, like chemical imbalances of the brain or head injuries, but more often results from a variety of causes, like a traumatic childhood or a recent death in the family. Diagnoses can still be made, but someone…

  • Nonfiction

    Cruise Ships Trump Kayaks

    by Will Day It seemed like just another crossing between Bahamian Cays. Sure, the rip current was moving faster than they’d encountered before, but they’d compensated by giving the racing water a wide berth. Five novice kayakers began to cross, eager to test their newfound abilities on what would be their first crossing without instructor guidance. Fifty yards offshore, their plan disintegrated. The bow of a cruise ship–reminiscent in size of an apartment building–punched through the gap between islands and charged, like a bull out of hell, toward the five students in their feeble plastic boats… [divider] Alaska Pacific University is unique in the world of undergraduate education, offering a…

  • Poetry

    The Trail

    by Fischer Gangemi His footsteps disturb the sleeping trail It ponders this new arrival as it has every new season He does not know what it is that calls him to this endless place The man’s steps wind onward towards everything He pauses as his soul hears a new yet familiar sound It beckons over the roar of the silent Wilderness He peers around the corner through the shadowed quite little lives He sees nothing but knows regardless His steps come nearer and the familiar sound of the brook of irritation echoes stronger He bends cup in hand to quench his thirst with the fast water His cup stops and…

  • Nonfiction

    Big Prairie

    by Fischer Gangemi Introduction When I was eleven years old my parents took me on a family river trip not far from home on the South Fork of the Flathead River.   I had been on many river trips and have been on many more since, but something about this trip was special for me.  I think it was the isolation. The only ways to access the headwaters of the South fork is to either hike or ride a horse somewhere between fifteen and thirty miles depending on the trailhead and the tributary you want to start on.  Starting at Young’s Creek, it’s over a forty mile float through wild and…

  • Fiction

    The Sand Man

    by Evan Nasse Go. Go on and jump towards the darkness. What are you waiting for? You want to do it, and you aren’t fooling anyone by saying you don’t want to join us. Me. We. I. That terrible, echoing, dulcet voice. That was how it always started. A soft whisper into the ear, a slight tickle that made the hair at the tip of an ear tingle. Every single time the lulling timbre echoed behind eyeballs and made a chill run through each inch of skin, like the tell-tale signs of water beginning to boil—slow rhythmic bubbles at first, then a loud, roiling assault an instant later. In each…

  • Nonfiction

    How to Stop Loving Him

    by Bridget Galvin Convince him to get a new haircut and when he does, notice the way it doesn’t frame his face the way it used to, notice that his shaved head reminds you of your cousin who, as your mom said, enlisted too young. Listen to him; really listen to him and when he talks watch the way his mouth automatically turns into a smile after every single sentence he utters. Try to talk to him about your fears, try to have a conversation with him about something other than the weather or the people in the restaurant across the street. Watch the way he cannot manage one dialogue…

  • Fiction

    An Autumn of New Beginnings

    by L.J. Bosela All she had ever wanted was to live quietly, simply, away from noise and crowds, in a safe cocoon of her own making. Over the years, that dream-haven changed in her imagination–sometimes resembling a monastic cell with stacks of books and little else, and other times a eclectic and bohemian den with overstuffed armchairs with mismatching cushions and funky crocheted afghans and hand-dyed curtains. There, she would be happy in a paper-filled, ink-scented life of words and writing, including others only when she wanted, and only those whom she really liked and who understood her. Now, however, she questioned that completely solitary life and wondered at how…

  • Nonfiction

    Sunday Best

    by Olivia Lada The last time I saw her was maybe 9:30 pm on a Saturday. Everyone had Church early the next morning, so even though the Midwestern sky had only just darkened, most of the crowd began to pack up and head home. That’s just the way things seemed to work, even on a comfortably thick, warm summer night like that one. I remember standing under the huge sycamore tree in her front yard, wanting nothing more than to stay for even just a few more minutes, but also overcome with the sense that neither I, nor anyone else was still welcome. She was hugging the trailing guests uncomfortably.…