From The Editor

Dear Sadists, Masochists, and Everyone In Between,

Let’s talk about awards—the arbitrary yardsticks that turn art into a pissing contest. But hey, if the world wants a spectacle, who are we to deny it? We’ve sharpened our claws, choked down the mediocrity, and emerged with the rawest, bloodiest morsels of fiction this side of a six-dollar motel room.

These stories weren’t chosen for their politeness or their ability to play nice with the literary crowd. They were picked because they punch you in the teeth, make you spit out blood, and leave you begging for more. The authors? They don’t write for validation; they write because they can’t not write. Because every word they scribble is a middle finger to mediocrity.

Our picks for the Best Small Fiction Awards are pure dynamite, led by Alex Sinclaire’s Tenderness (Will Haunt You Forever). This one isn’t just the best; it’s a ghost that lingers, breathing down your neck and daring you to flinch. Next, we have Judge Santiago’s The Twice-Killed Cat, a story that carves itself into your psyche with surgical precision. And finally, Dispatcher by M.E. Proctor—a jagged, electric piece that hums with the kind of intensity most writers can only dream about.

We’re submitting these not because we crave approval, but because it’s fun to throw a wrench in the works. Maybe we’ll win. Maybe we won’t. Who cares? These stories already won the moment they forced their way into your skull and set up shop.

So, to the judges: Good luck. Our picks don’t ask for your approval; they demand your attention. And to our readers: buckle up. If these stories don’t make you squirm, cry, or laugh at the wrong time, then you’re already dead inside.

Stay weird,

Cody Sexton

Managing Editor/Founder/Creator