Hothouse
Literary Journal
Author: hothouselitjournal
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When I misbehaved as a child, my mother would suggest that I might be a Changeling. Her words were set with grim sincerity, as if seriously preoccupied that her baby girl might be gone, stolen in the night, replaced with an obscene imitation. At my indignation, she would double down until I was forced to…
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Sarah Rizvi Modeled after “The Father From China” in China Men by Maxine Hong Kingston. I have watched you beg, Mother. You would say please after every request you had for my father, “Can you wash the dishes today, please?”, “Will you bring me some water, please?”, “Can’t you be nicer today, please?”, and each…
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Zane Duzant See, all that I ask for is a glass of water with ice. Now that I am moving nearby, I’d like to stop in. Ideally, on a daily basis. I hope to not be a bother. I’m positive sometimes I’ll be bothersome; afterall, you and I are only human. That is, I have…
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Stephanie Ro ‘I am growing up,’ she thought, taking her taper. ‘I am losing my illusions, perhaps to acquire new ones,’ and she paced down the long gallery to her bedroom. — Virginia Woolf Looking back, it was a peculiar aloneness that I felt during those months in Korea—donning the superpower of invisibility. The first…
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Olivia Savage The female has always been a source of curiosity — a subject to study, speculate about and dismiss as an emotional liability. She is sensitive and vulnerable — deeply moved by the profundities of the world, or she is passionate and defensive — deeply inspired to challenge the injustices of the world, especially…
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Abigail Pfeifer
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DJ Woodring It was a nice day. It always was, at the blue house. Which people said was odd. Off-putting, even. But there it was. The sun was shining down on the tall grass, which was waving in a polite breeze, sending an earthy, pollen smell up to the porch and across the road to…
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DJ Woodring It was a strange thing, to take a night job when you were afraid of the dark. It was a strange thing to be afraid of the dark at all, when you were almost twenty, but there you have it. But times were hard, and the lighthouse wasn’t going to tend to itself,…
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Abigail Pfeifer They’re waiting on me. I’m late and I need to leave now, but I’ve sunken into the floor, the foundation, the earth below. It’s all too heavy to push off. I can’t move. “Get up,” Dad says. I can’t move. The sofa cushion below me is damp with drool. He jabs my shoulder.…
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Jacob Keiser For dinner, there are tubers, some yellow with flakes of pastel pink, and the rest are deep purple. Their skins are soft, and several have split, spilling steam that smells of heavenly dirt. Abuelito is standing over me. He puts a third potato on my plate and commands me to eat. “Listen, or…
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Reese Beebe I only have one secret. It’s the thing that comes in the night. As I lie flat on my mattress, I expect her. I brace myself for her warm breath, her cool touch, the way she hovers over the ground, footsteps so light they do not seem to exist. I study the grooves…
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Wynn Wilkinson I am driving back from El Paso & have been for three hours. You are quiet; you are letting me drive because the road is open & flat & empty or something, & I am grateful you’re letting me focus on the sun dipping in the rearview, restraining yourself from commenting on my…
Hothouse 