Fierce, intimate, and deeply attuned to the interior lives of Black women.
Our short stories center Black women’s voices through character-driven narratives of love and loss, joy and fear, change and triumph—stories that pull you in and stay with you.
Each piece is chosen for its craft, depth, and emotional clarity, reflecting the brilliance and range of Black women’s storytelling across the diaspora.
This is where imagination expands, craft is honored, and our voices find a home.
Shattering glass echoes in my ears, snapping my head up from my phone. Right across
Mama always said the Devil is a lie. I remember thinking that before it happened.
We arrived with our gods, walked them into the soil and braided totems into our
“3 A.M./Stare at the ceilin’, murder the feelin’/Spider crawl in the corner—Brown Recluse./So appropriate” I
I text Alicia that I’m outside and when she responds, I’m already ringing the doorbell.
On a nimbus of decay, it emerged from the dark recesses of her closet and
It was a bitterly cold November evening, fifteen minutes or so before closing when the
They were floating, flying in tandem, punctuated by the last of the year’s sunlight, perfectly
Cast aside the bloody hands of the self-righteous for they brittle and collapse amongst the
Sometimes she thought it must be loneliness that made her see things. She could see
The first time she noticed, it was purely accidental. A quick glance while reaching for
The winds bouncing off the gulf swaddle Fleur’s bare head as she stands at its
SOUP: It is barely dawn, and the village of Layou is swallowed up in sleep
“Let me know when it starts to burn,” Aunt Mimi would say, pressing down on
“Mannn, the things I could say about my boy, Romeo.” Chuckles rippled through the great
