The Writer's Workout

What the Body Refuses by Aneisha Gupta First Place The first time my throat tightened at the temple, I thought it was God. I was ten years old, standing barefoot on the cool stone floor of our local Hindu temple, waiting for my offerings, waiting for my prashad. As far back as I can remember, my birthdays always began with prayers at the temple alongside my family. Incense curled toward the ceiling, blurring the golden edges of the deities. The priest’s voice rose and fell

Nail Biter by Jade Josie Second Place My cheeks feel warm buried in the crook of my elbow. I am something dead to the world, bloated and still. My scrawny limbs bend and spread across my desk as my mind floats anywhere else but here. I feel more comfortable than I ever could be in my bed, even in all of the clattering noise before first period. A chirping voice and a tap to my shoulder drags me from my haze. “Hi!” A hand waves in front of my face, making the pale school li

She's Back by Claire Beaver Third Place 1. On her hands and knees, loose pieces of grout piercing her skin between tiles, Avery scrubbed. The sponge was chunky with bits of vomit and fingernails intended to land in the toilet, but she didn’t stop until the splattered bits were gone. Avery couldn’t remember the last time she had thrown up, really thrown up. Maybe in college after a night of binge drinking with her sister; May knew how to drink. Avery pulled herself up by the

We love Fiction Potluck because the submissions are so much fun! Here are April's Fiction Potluck Finalists for the body snatchers challenge. Look for the Finalist badge across social media to connect with these authors. April Finalists Claire Beaver Claire Beaver is a multidisciplinary writer with fiction and poetry appearing in Last Leaves Magazine, sans. press, and more. Her debut poetry chapbook, bones, ashes, fire, was released from Bottlecap Press. She is currently work

Twenty-Five Yards to Life by Deidra Whitt Lovegren First Place That’s my name and my number, but it’s not me. With a flick of my thumb, I pop open a black umbrella and square up behind a rusty chain-link fence. Fresh cut grass takes me back to the start of my own NFL career—before the chronic pain, relentless lawsuits, and crazy carousel of ex-wives ruined my life. Did it always rain like hell during training camp? The players don’t seem to notice the wet jerseys stick

Teacher's Pet by Thomas Second Place Everybody hated Colin O’Dowd. He was a snake, a stool pigeon, a rat. We didn’t have much to amuse ourselves at Bede Middle, but one thing we did like was making soggy moggys– wetting toilet paper and throwing it at the ceiling. Stevie Allen had it down to a fine art. He said some of his pieces had been on the ceiling since the first term. I liked to imagine that in 3000 years, some archaeologists excavating our school would loo

Roadkill by Steven O'Hara Third Place In a town, not far enough inland to be considered the sticks, but not close enough to any city or sister settlement to gain any overflowing economy, is a white steepled church, where all the townsfolk, no matter their religious affiliation, or if they’ve any religion at all, seem to gather; a redbricked school that houses all students no matter their age, as there is no other school in this town—nor close to it—but the children don’t se