prose

 
 

BETWEEN BREATHS BY NADJA LUBIW-HAZARD

Inhale. I take a deep breath in through my nostrils. The air travels through the cartilaginous rings of my trachea, divides at the bifurcation of the bronchi, rushes down smaller and smaller pathways. It expands my lungs, widening my ribcage, stretching my diaphragm, raising my collarbones. Seconds pass before I release the breath, letting it stream out slowly, whispering away to nothing. Exhale.   

 

PROVING YOU DIDN'T WANT IT BY SAVANNA SCOTT LESLIE

In light of the recent Jian Ghomeshi sexual assault trial, Proving You Didn't Want It illustrates the Canadian Justice System's often absurd treatment of sexual violence cases. 

 

THE MAGICIAN BY JEN CURRIN

The street sparkled with ice and the remnants of midnight. Angela loved walking at night, especially in winter. The air so cold it singed the hair in her nostrils, the tree branches a broken calligraphy against the sky, the moon whitely grinning or opening its mouth wide to aaahhh, to sing. The silence of the empty empty streets.