Fiction
Angel Bath
When she thought of all that shiny porcelain shattering down the slope, angels’ limbs mangled and plump cheeks drowned in the muddy river, her body quivered in an almost religious ecstasy.
Goats
Cursing, he sat up and then found the goat watching him, a petulant look in its black eyes, and its mouth full and chewing on the woman’s wet hair.
In the Petrified Forest
Love is relativistic like that. It can dilate the world to the sharp intake of half a breath, the space between parted lips, the incremental uptick of temperature as two forms share heat. It makes it all stretch into the infinite.
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Ruminate Community
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The Waking is an online literary magazine and a part of the Ruminate creative community that houses high-quality literary writing about what it’s like to be human. We are interested in short-form prose and image-text hybrid work. This art can be beautiful, it can be strange, we just ask that it feels true.