Daniel was praying. It was still early, sunless dawn filling the sole window of his bedroom. In the next room, the spring mattress squeaked, a body shifting weight. Daniel tensed, listened for more waking noises. But the snoring—he couldn’t tell whether his mom’s or dad’s—continued.
for Anna-Lisa Hillenburg The kestrel clutched our ranger’s padded fist, its rust-streaked cheeks jerking quizzically from girl to girl. We listened drowsily in mist before the thunder broke, before we leaned beneath that tiny canopy to keep at least our shirtfronts dry. ‘Imprinted’ means she
Columbine was a big deal. Gunshots indoors do not sound like what you think they sound like. You will get to experience that today. Let me show you a bullet through paper. Tell your children. Children, put your backpacks between you and the shooter. Paper
______________________________________________ Cameron Quan Louie is from Tucson, Arizona and lives in Seattle where he’s pursuing his MFA in Creative Writing at the University of Washington. Cameron’s work has appeared in Persona and Rainy Day and in 2011, he received the Hattie-Lockett Award for Poetry from
Charles Darwin spent four years at Christ College, Cambridge, and was the president of the ‘Glutton Club’ there. The members sought out any rare or unusual species and proceeded to devour it at weekly meetings. The club eventually disbanded after a tawny owl was served, its meat