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Digital lit mag & more. 5 editors in a trenchcoat. 2 indie lit 2 quit. Submissions open. https://www.roifaineantpress.com/ EIC @tiffanymarie.bsky.social Masthead: @skybarett.bsky.social @kelkel.bsky.social @melissacuisine.bsky.social @maybemargot.bsky.soci

IT'S A JOB THAT MOST PEOPLE DON'T EVEN KNOW EXISTS, AND A JOB THAT NO ONE EVER ADMITS TO WORKING.
I MOSTLY COOED AND SLEPT LIKE SOME SORT OF DRUNKEN DOVE PAST MIDNIGHT INTO SATURDAY. SO WHEN IT WAS TIME TO DESCEND FROM MY MARSHMALLOW CLOUD TO THE BATTLEFIELD
"BEATING THE TROJANS WAS EASIER THAN PLANNING FOR THIS CRAZY CHRISTMAS SHOPPING EXCURSION," MUSED EUSTIS OUT LOUD, TO HIS FELLOW SPARTANS.
AFTER INVITING ME TO JOIN HIM AT ONE OF THOSE EAST SIDE MILWAUKEE TAVERNS THAT NOTORIOUSLY CATERS TO THOSE WHO LIKE TO IMBIBE IN EXCESS - AN OFFER THAT I SUBSEQUENTLY DECLINE RESPECTFULLY, MIKE SHOWS UP IN MY WAITING ROOM LATER THAT SAME DAY.
THE SET OF SUPERNATURAL EVENTS INCUDES BLESSINGS AND CURSES, THE DIVINE, THE DIABOLIC, AND MUCH STRANGER THINGS.
FRANK PULLS A HALF-DRUNK BOTTLE OF VODKA FROM THE FREEZER AND FILLS A TUMBLER.
BEHIND THE BAR, A SMALL WINDOW A/C UNIT BLEW FRIGID AIR LIKE LIFE DEPENDED ON IT - AND IT PROBABLY DID.
LET SEASONS AND CICADA FULFILL THIS MISERABLE PREMISE. NOT OUR SONS AND DAUGHTERS.
PERIODICALLY, OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, CAMPBELL COULD'VE SWORN THAT HE SAW HIS LOOKALIKE ON HALF A DOZEN OR MORE OCCASIONS: IN THE STAFF CANTEEN, ENTERING THE PHYSICAL APTITUDE TESTING UNIT, EXERCISING IN THE COMMUNAL RECREATION AREA, ON THE FACTORY FLOOR ITSELF, EVEN PASSING IN THE BACK OF THE CHIEF DIRECTORATE'S OFFICIAL CAR.
ALEJANDRO'S HOOTING ME OVER, BUT FUCK THAT. GOT BUSINESS TO ATTEND TO.
HE EXPLAINED, LOVE DOESN'T DEPART BUT ITS LANGUAGE IS MADE OF RULES AND DISCIPLINE.
TIME SPIRALS IN THE DIRECTION OF GALAXIES,
I'M TICKLED BY THE LEVEL OF PAIN-IN-THE-ASS YOU'VE ACHIEVED
IN HER RENTED BLUE FORD SHE KISSES MY CHEEK
HIS NEW MOM QUESTIONED WHY IGNORANCE IS THE BEST WE CAN DO?
WE'RE SEATED AT A ROUND TABLE SO I CAN'T ESCAPE MY SISTER-IN-LAW'S SIGHTLINE,
THE KID HAS A PERMANENTLY DAZED LOOK, LIKE HE'S HIGH OR HE WAS DROPPED ON HIS HEAD. DROPPED ON HIS HEAD IS MORE LIKELY GIVEN HIS PARENTAL SITUATION.
MY FATHER KNEW HOW THE SYSTEM WORKED; HOW IT FED ITS SUBJECTS AND GROUND THEIR BONES.
REGGAETON CUTS OUT, I HEAR THE SOUND OF SNARLING GUITARS, BIG HEAVY DRUMS.
Did you ever lose days, confuse the years. Did you ever wish to sleep and wake pillowed on another life?
Yellow eyed the rabbit-eaten iris while Riptide took Indigo’s hand
One morning, before his shift started, a curious thing happened to Niles Campbell.
What’s up Buttercups? Subs are open!
You sit down on the floor and sink in just enough to the couch behind you. The sadness does not go away, but it settles next to you instead of pressing on your chest. The couch does not judge; it just continues to hold you.
Let the noise sort itself out: sirens, regrets, the names you never learned to say correctly.
Though not a butterfly, she danced like the best of them and if she was tired then what a beauty it is to be tired.
My love is a multicoloured, sparkly thing, resides upon tree, below butterfly’s underwing
The bass drops and words fall out — slick, unclaimed — pooling around my boots. Someone says beautiful mama, and the phrase sticks to my skin, glowing faintly, northern, like a bruise that refuses to thaw.
We’re silhouettes on a mudflap - flashing go go girls on neon signs - naked daughters of Eve.
The air hums with expectations packed into this polished condo. You ticked another box off your carefully curated list of life goals. And yet, something tugs at the edge of your heart.
There is a small room tucked at the back of an office. No one notices it unless they need it. The air always smells like coffee or chai. Inside, the light is warm and dimmed, and sometimes, out the window, you can catch the sun just before it dips below the trees. Your headphones play a soft, sad song; it’s not enough to make you cry, just enough to make your heart ache.
The body is not a vault but a hallway with bad lighting.
I saw a moth resting on the garage window, no doubt tired of the brutal summer day.
Debunked destructive intentions when the raindrops began to flow, this afternoon’s washing soaked to pristine foundations.
The crowd presses inward instead, palms flat against my stomach, listening — not to me, but to what’s inside. Their faces are earnest, almost tender. I feel myself turning into a surface, a site, a thing that means something to everyone but me.
We’ve talked to snakes - we’ve listened to them too. These conversations had nothing to do with fruit.
Even the happiest of things/days/moment/loves blows away.
It was all wrong and it was all strange.
The floor below me is scattered with moth wings, pale and brittle.
One more thin purple stream bursting on the red map of his nose — penciled by a lifetime of alcohol and anger.
It would be hours before they secured the bag of cash from Scott’s parents and even longer before Scott, pretending to have to go to work despite the kidnapping, picked up the money at the mall.
On sunny afternoons, when shadows moved on the floor, you turned into her, wearing a beautiful saree, and you used your pretend weapon to strike the Rakshasa, just as your mother told you.
‘I do know what you usually wear to the office, Tracey, but you’re working from home today, aren't you? Just wanted to check you’re sticking to the manual.’
As she steps inside, the floorboards do not groan. Nothing moves. The house is so well behaved.
I came to, on a gurney behind a curtain like a bedsheet. The world sounded different. Everything looked the same, but there was an ineffaceable ring tone sound.
Your wars are embarrassing.
Her eyes scanning for needs until all is settled just long enough for her to pirouette
The house hummed a low tune, a mournful lullaby, almost as if it remembered everything. And if it remembers, it must be grieving too.
one dime, three nickels, many pennies; lip saver, cherry flavor with hearts;
Melinda screamed, hot, forceful breath scraping her teeth. She was doing what she was supposed to, that’s how aggrieved mothers behaved.
Amma narrates the legend of Honamma for the millionth time as you make your way to the temple.
My smartwatch says ‘unknown number’, but I know who it is.
The box arrived on a Tuesday.
Her eyes scanning for needs until all is settled just long enough for her to pirouette
Everything changed in a microscopic moment.