Tint Journal writers’ locales:

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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 
"Energy" by Vanesa Erjavec

Short Story

The Things Our Parents Teach Us

by Olivia Samur

My mother always said, “No hagas papelón.” Don’t make a scene. Don’t embarrass yourself. Don’t give people something to talk about. She said it in the ...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 
"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 
"Footsteps" by Petra Fuks

Flash Nonfiction

Barefoot

by Pranjali Kureel

Wandering through the foothills of the Himalayas the other day, I saw you. Not that I was looking for you here out of all the places, but then, there ...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 
"Water Droplet" by Yuliia Khovbosha

Poetry

Domestic Scene with Victorian Ruins & a Daughter Listening to Matilda at 2 a.m.

by Paola Lee

Jane Austen, who understood that women could disappear elegantly without ever leaving the room, never wrote mothers like mine. At 2:17 a.m., Harry ...read the full piece