QB
Staff of QB
At first you hoped the charred cards were a bid for forgiveness. But your long-dead father’s ashy handwriting, unmistakably rigid, won’t apologize for hitting Mr. Wiggles with the sedan, or forgetting the invitations for your tenth birthday party. Dad’s not looking to close old wounds. Instead: implacable criticisms, with no return address.
Fix kitchen baseboard! 14 degrees crooked.
The inside of your mouth is grungy and green.
You were difficult enough without your mother. WHERE IS SHE!?
Somewhere better, you hope. Today’s postcard depicts a lake of fire; a waving hand of crumbling ashes; the caption Wish You Were Here!
Chris Clemens lives and teaches in Toronto, surrounded by raccoons. More: linktr.ee/clemenstation
- ornate golden picture frame haunted by a ghost named Gertrude.
- man rescuing the princess (= his feminine side) from the tower (= penis).
- monkshood bulbs. WARNING: wear gloves.
- two wolves inside me. they want to kiss.
- black lipstick.
- three boxes of love letters—unsent.
↑
things to keep
—
things to lose
↓
- homes with white walls and green lawns.
- panopticons.
- my harry potter book and merch collection.
- 1700 phone number.
- iron giants.
- fathers who are duped into selling their daughters to the devil.
unsorted →→ facebook profiles of the deceased, honesty no one wants to hear, a promise ring for a promise that was never fulfilled.
bailey loveless haunts a far forest ledge and collects ghosts along the Washington coastline. IG:@bailey.loveless
This month...
Contributions from...
A.J. McCrae, Alethea Paul, Andrew Loria, Bailey Loveless, Barb DeMoney, Brett Abrahamsen, Chris Clemens, Cristina Cabrera, E. Florian Gludovacz, E.J. LeRoy, Elle Burnett, Floyd Largent, Hazel Pearson, Imrak Eriksson, Jason Ryberg, Karl El-Koura, Kat Hausler, Kelley Tai, Lisa Timpf, M.D. Berry, Mackie P. Notte, Michael Smith, Nicholas De Marino, R.J. Butler, Sascha Reinhard, Savannah S. Miller, Steven Van Der Heyden, Stuart Docherty, Tamara Brereton-Karabetsos, Tatiana Shokhan
Cover art
featuring photograph by Jubéo Hernandez
Pick up a copy of this and more from our webstore!
PDF and EPUB zines of August's stories available exclusively to paid subscribers:
CRUMBS Vol.003 Winners
a drabble writing contest
It is time to announce the winners of our third CRUMBS drabble writing contest!
As a reminder, the theme for June was...
And here are the winners:
Les Brisures
- the sorting by bailey loveless
- Postcards From Your Dead Dad by Chris Clemens
- Advanced Pet Care by E. Florian Gludovacz
Bouchée du Benêt
- How to Save a Witch by Tatiana Shokhan
Miette d'Or
- Cinders by Alethea Paul
We will be publishing their stories over the first five days of August!
CRUMBS is off for August, but we will be announcing our new print anthology soon!
We waded along Time itself, waiting a long time to make decisions already made, for hours pass circularly on this land. The breaks are quite strange, too. I count seconds—one to three for five seconds—then again and then? I open my eyes: burning! She’s still here, watching! me scream into the abyss
Emir Brown-Murillo is a poet from Harlem. They are a Frost Place 2020 Latinx Scholar and the winner of the 2017 Artistine Mann Award.
of America, my daughter
has written above the map
of the lower forty-eight,
transposing two letters,
forgetting to cross one t,
the map itself colored in
a little sloppily, dark crayon
spilling in from Mexico,
and bleeding into Canada,
and how perfect is that?
Paul Hostovsky’s poems appear and disappear simultaneously (ta-da!). His new collection is Perfect Disappearances (2025).
The storm smothered the city for hours.
While her mother slurred in a bar, nine-year old Holly made dinner for her twin brothers. The toddlers were difficult to corral. When she cooked, Holly tied a cord around their waists, tethering them to a sofa leg.
Hard rain roared on the threadbare roof and muffled the civil defense siren’s whine for mercy. The boys cried. She called to them reassuringly.
The flood slammed into the house and kicked in the back door. Its force shoved her thin legs, and she lost her footing, striking her face on the sink’s edge. Blood flowed from her broken freckled nose.
She struggled toward the living room, screaming. They wailed, and the cord grew taut against their thrashes. Her slight body wobbled in the current.
A squealing rat clung to her dress and dug its nails into her thigh. She lunged for her brothers as the dark water overtook them. Small, panicked hands grabbed her arms.
She ducked under and fought the saturated knot. It held tight, a fist.
Their fingers pulled her hair while they choked on the water they inhaled.
She came up, gasped, and went under again. The water lifted the sofa, and she freed the cord from the leg.
The walls groaned. Windows burst.
David Nusloch is a writer from New Orleans, Louisiana.