Tint Journal writers’ locales:

(click on the colored countries to learn more)

Issue Spring '26

"Place to Hide" by Anna Major

Short Story

Dust

by Olga Ruchina

I am an archive of suffering. I’m 25 years old. Ancient, by our standards. Most of us live a week or two, maybe a few months if they’re lucky enough ...read the full piece 
"Yellow Stars on a Black Floor" by Tania Serket

Short Story

The Other Side

by Somrwita Guha

I knew something was wrong the moment I saw the shoes. It wasn’t the usual neat line of sandals, school shoes, and the battered floaters my uncles ...read the full piece 
"Making plan" by Muyang Li

Flash Fiction

Papanca

by Pamela Smith

It’s two in the morning, and she’s in the bathroom, bleach coats the floor, thick, suffocating.It spreads like a blanket no one ever asked for.The ...read the full piece 
"Generations" by Mimi Kunz

Essay

A Bridge Between

by D.G. Rosales

We were halfway through assembling the dresser for the baby's room when we gave up. The kind of giving up that happens in late pregnancy when ...read the full piece 
"A Year in Tokyo" by Monika Gustevičiūtė

Essay

A Year in Tokyo

by Jee Ann Marie E. Guibone

The first thing you notice in Tokyo is a siren going off every night. You’ve booked a business hotel in a suburb of Nishi-Shinjuku. It’s a stone’s ...read the full piece 
"Never Had Much Choice In It" by Benjamin Malay

Essay

The Bitter Smell of Sagebrush

by Aizhan Yesbolatova

When we approached the village, I didn’t recognize the house. It felt strange because, in my memory, it stood there so vividly; yet, when the driver ...read the full piece 
"Learning to Live off the Land" by Ann Keeling

Poetry

To Hold the Falling Light

by Melissa Luz

here —i try to hold what won’t stay and my fingersbecome cracked riverbedswhere things meant to be water refuse to settle since the first timei saw ...read the full piece 
"Cymbals after a Caesura" by Devon Balwit

Poetry

The Perfumers

by Oindrila Ghosal

The perfumers ply acrossThe crackedRugged promenadesIn silenceLike rows of ants.Like molten honeyThe overhead sunDrips down theirBare backs —Insulated ...read the full piece