2025, Regal House
"A fingerprint is made up of whorls and arches, the detective explained. See the friction edge? This is the radial loop, the peacock's eye--"
"We wait outside in our poly-cotton spun outfits for the cake factory to open, looking at our phones, wearing white paper sailboat hats, thinking: Who loves me—just a little. Drifting over the sea of likes, our fingers in loose, clear gloves."
"But Kay is still regular-sized, asleep in their bed as big as the sea, the raft of her breath carrying her away while Paul jumps to the nightstand, hooks his legs and shimmies down into the rough forest of carpet. He will escape the house—find a corner where rain has made the dead rot of plaster soft in his hands, or a crack beneath the door large enough for a mouse to slip through."
"Weirdly, you become an egg. No shell. Hard boiled."
"Light from distant galaxies takes billions of years to reach us. We see these galaxies not as they are now, but as they were long ago."
"A man swims to the left of Julia, and a woman to the right. They are blurs of misted goggles, the glint of a silver, latex cap. They flip like sleek fish at the pool’s wall."
"The first hologram I made was of a tree. I thought of you as I made it, and how you said it’s hard to remember what a summer tree looks like in the middle of winter."
"The dining room ceiling in the empty house on Howard Road is stained Benson & Hedges brown, a shape of blooming flowers patterned like the Woodward & Lothrop dresses the once-married women wear when meeting a date on the Kennedy Center terrace."
"On the flight to Argentina, he wore a pressed pink shirt."
"I stood sideways in front of the mirror, smoothing my dress."
"Try this with the brown glass bottle."
"The women who took shifts caring for Margaret wore tulip-pink scrubs, cardigans, and round-toed shoes that squeaked on the polished floors beyond her room."
"There are places where everyone wants to buy a house, but that’s not here. We have empty subdivisions. We have coyote in broad daylight. Our hospital is flying at half-mast. This used to be a steel town. Slag pits line the highway. The sun sets behind mountains of shattered stone."
"When my friend’s husband died, it was March—that last cold streak of winter rain—and we opened all the windows in her apartment so the wind could rush through the rooms."
"May took the trolley to the new grocer’s—the one on the boulevard with shining white aisles where the exit was near the back of the store on an otherwise blank wall past the butcher’s station, which smelled of bleach and blood, where married women or their maids ordered a cow’s flank and watched as the butcher hacked at it with his great cleaver."
"On Match.com, Ken’s moniker was “Dull.” He wrote that among his favorite things were office carpeting, spam, and waiting rooms."
2016, Regan Arts
"The package lies on the kitchen table. Hans Loomis keeps his back to it, preferring instead to linger at the window, absorbing the final heavy days of summer—those long evenings when the nature of time shifts into something dreamlike, suspended. "
"Two nights pass, and on the third day, beyond the smudged train window, we wake to green hills and the sun moving high."
Beth Hahn (she/her) is the author of the novel The Singing Bone (Regan Arts, 2016). Her writing appears in The Common, Small Orange Journal, Milk Candy Review, Fractured Lit, HAD, CRAFT, and elsewhere.
Her second novel, The City Beneath Her was long-listed for publishing prizes with Mslexia and Regal House and is available from Regal House Publishing. Her short fiction has been nominated for Pushcarts by CRAFT and Milk Candy Review.
Beth attended the Ragdale Foundation, the Wellstone Center in the Redwoods, the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, and has an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. She is the co-editor of -ette review.
Beth has led writing workshops in the Hudson Valley for many years. She’s taught both novel and short story. Her students had first publications in Pithead Chapel, the Jellyfish Review, Pigeon Pages NYC, and Barren Magazine.
Beth also designs websites for writers, publishers, and literary journals. If you’re interested in a one-of-a-kind website, please visit pixelandparagraph.com and get in touch.
a note on the design: The publication timeline was hand-coded using HTML and CSS. Images are enhanced and sized in Photoshop. The rest of the page was created with WordPress/Elementor. The timeline is responsive. For design work, visit pixelandparagraph.com.