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I sliced my hand with a steak knife the day after Christmas, sneaking leftover pie. The wound stung and pulsed. I made my way to the sink, rinsed my hand over the piled dishes. It hurt. The water ran ...

Over the next few months, we’ll be introducing our submissions editors so that you, dear writers and readers, might have a clearer idea of who we are, who reads your work first at SmokeLong, and what ...

**The terms & conditions you grew up with don't have to determine the rest of your life**   When a 46-year-old hypervigilant anthropologist finds out she has a genetic mutation that means she is at ri...

I don’t see him anymore, not in the flesh, there’s just a cutout of him now. Him and everyone else in the city. Everyone except me. I used to pass real George on my cycle to work. Him and his real dog...

by Karen Crawford You used to say why isn't my son here, and I might have asked the same question if I wasn't married to him, and he wasn't married to his job, but he's here now…

Now Available for Preorder! FAMILY NIGHT is by turns a lyrical celebration of queerness and an exploration of family and loss, often through a lens of magical realism. Ani King's collected flash fic...

ALT: Drums Drumroll

Flash * Friendship * Fun * Fabulous giveaways

Monday is for vacuum cleaners, tubes clogged with hair and paperclips. Tuesdays (two-days) people remember that they only had one copy of the will.

My first, great crime took place in my grandmother’s living room; all swirling patterns and light thrown through lace curtains like the scatter of a disco ball, it gave the place a certain drama which...

ALT: Fiction

ALT: Colorful Neon Number 2

Every Sunday my father carried my mother's head to the front porch and set it on the table to enjoy the sunshine.

Every Sunday my father carried my mother's head to the front porch and set it on the table to enjoy the sunshine.