A short story by Thomas Shea
When I awoke on Day Two of my monthly cycle, I loathed everything about my body. Cramps wracked my abdomen like my uterus had grown spurs. Bloating turned my pajama bottoms’ waistband into a misplaced but enthusiastic noose. Oil oozed over my skin, and my hair clumped like it belonged in a shower drain. My breath reeked like a hoarder's pantry, and my maxi pad had suffered a bloody defeat in the night. It felt 20 degrees too cold to get up.
An poem by Ann Cefola
When Barbie had her hysterectomy, Ken had no idea what it was.
Unaware she’d been bleeding for years. Her Anne-Francis face
wide open on the OR table. Drill the doctor had to use
to cut through polyvinyl chloride.
A flash creative non-fiction piece by Dawn Corrigan
In fourth grade, I went from being a shy but essentially cheerful girl to a moody and unpredictable one, practically overnight. My fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Safer, was alarmed enough by this sudden change in disposition to phone my mother at home.
The water runs red
A short story by Marissa McNamara
Nights, the boys wake me. They stand in the corners, watching for my eyes to open, and then they are on top, pinning me down with their dirty sheet smell. They are pungent and wet with adolescence.