Tint Journal writers’ locales:

(click on the colored countries to learn more)

Issue Fall '26

"The Thing We Buried" by Monika Gustevičiūtė

Short Story

The Thing We Buried

by Ethel Maqeda

Only Tabonga still remembered their bush. Even after all these years, it remained clear to her. But when she tried to remember it with her friends, ...read the full piece 
"Float II" by TJ Norris

Flash Fiction

Slack Water

by Mileva Anastasiadou

My friend texts before she gets on the plane and says, how exciting, because she’s flying to see the love of her life, and I’m happy for her, but also ...read the full piece 
"Altruism" by Panait David

Short Story

Hummingbird

by Rachel Huh

Before She recites the story of how I became hers. I was in the middle of cooking, she tells me in Korean as she taps out a beat on the steering ...read the full piece 
"Fragmented Pulse" by Mukul Chandra Barman

Essay

Ginger Grandmother

by Anushka

I’d been murderous about my grandmother for years now. You’d think it was anger or perhaps even hate seeping into unassuming errant thoughts — an idle ...read the full piece 
"I'm Flying Through the Daytime City in the Clouds" by Nasta Martyn

Flash Nonfiction

The Ballet Dancer

by Andie Z Chen

One of my aunties — her child had died of cerebrovascular disease. When her son was sick, blood kept coming out of his nose, and she would hold a ...read the full piece 
"Going Home" by Sonal Goorha

Flash Nonfiction

The Goldfish and the Boy

by Chun Yu 俞淳

It was July 4th. I was at a party in a California garden overlooking the Pacific. Boys, loud and strong, waved nets, chasing goldfish in a small pond. ...read the full piece 
"Stress Lines" by Em Harriett

Poetry

(new year as hunger, as hands, as a house with no doors)

by Thái Nguyễn Đăng Khoa

i. the elephant in the room at dinner, we eat in silence,on plates older than us, as father’s cigarette glowslike embers, its smoke pressing the ...read the full piece 
"Offering" by Anna Kirby

Poetry

generational healthy recipe

by Chelsey Keith Ignacio

the leftovers of my great-grandmother are safekept in a tin of cookies under the kitchen floor. we’re instructed to only open it when the moon turns ...read the full piece