February 2026
Editorial: The Best We Can Hope For
Growing up, I think what plagued my mind endlessly was regret—regret about things I’ve said or done, things I should have said or done or wish I had. It was an endless cycle of reliving things past, and potential futures let go, over and over and over again each night, until these very thoughts either caused long term insomnia, or infused themselves with both my sleeping and waking dreams. I would shape and reshape words in my mind, the ones that others might expect me to say, offer reactions and performing actions I believed others were looking for, and there became such a careful intention behind everything I would say or do that even the slightest mistake would cause a spiral that no one else would see, a collapsing house of cards, a suffocating self-made prison.
It was at the end of high school when I’d finally learned to let go of regret, of the fear of failure, of spending too much or little time with someone or on some specific thing, letting go of the moments where I’d made decisions that were too impulsive, too risky, and at the same time, letting go of the regret of not following my instincts or not taking opportunities when presented to me. I’d made mistake after mistake to the point it didn’t seem as though anything could have been repaired. A part of me felt so liberated, so refreshed, because when there was no further I could fall, I could focus solely on climbing again. Because it felt as though I was already on the ground, there was room to rise.
Yet recently, regret has crept steadily back into my life without me noticing, and of course, of course, that is how it always makes its entrance, how it had always made its entrance in the past.
I’m sure most of us are familiar with the following few phrases:
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“I should’ve—”
“If only I—”
“Maybe if—”
“What if I had/hadn’t—?”
“Why did I—?”
But we can’t change the past, we can only learn from it, then let it go, to make amends, whether it be with ourselves or with others, so we can move forth without regrets—because sometimes, that might be the best we can hope for.
I hope the stories for this month help you dear readers who find yourselves looking back, unable to pry your gazes away, to hold your pasts in your shadows, but do not allow them to weigh down your steps.
* * *
Ⓒ Ai Jiang
Lizzie Williams’ Swampy Head
It was during those months of strangling, watery heat when Lizzie Williams first told us about the head. She kept it in a burlap sack and would walk everywhere with it slung over her shoulder. When she grew tired, she let it bump along behind her in the rusty dirt. It don’t mind, she told […]
Henrietta Armitage Doesn’t Read Anymore
Henrietta was light-headed. The old man slouching across from her had a sardine sandwich, so the waiting room reeked. Henrietta’s octopus enjoyed the stink, but she herself was nauseous. That’s why she was there: the dizziness, the hot bile, the drool.She turned to the girl beside her, green fringe poking from her pilling hoodie. Whispered: […]
Editorial: The Collection
I have a collection of octopuses. There’s probably an octopus in every room of my house, a tentacle waving at me from every doorway. I haven’t always collected them—I didn’t know anything about the animal as a kid. I’m mildly concerned about what a large collection of anything suggests about the collector. But there was […]
Mirror-hole
The mirror-hole appears on Haley’s sixteenth birthday as she’s putting on eyeliner. A huge, jagged oval in the middle of the mirror.Haley shrugs and puts on mascara. It’s not like she’s never seen a mirror-hole. Still, she doesn’t let anything get close to it.She waits until Friday before telling Jessica, while they’re in line for […]
Schism
Beneath Ibryn’s touch, the Instrument that Has No Name sings. It is a complex affair—it took them several years to learn. Many more to master. Playing it is a puzzle, a complicated maze of levers and keys and dials only decipherable by the immense processing power of their hive. To even coax out a single […]
Conflict Resolution
I push Alicia hard, deep into the liquid, gripping her shoulders when she squirms. Silver balls of air bubble from her nose and her lips move as if she’s trying to speak, to cry, to plead. Finally, she sags into the viscous liquid. Her eyes stay open, staring at the ceiling of Cargo Hold One, […]
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