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 
"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 
"Cocoon" by Johannes Christopher Gerard

Short Story

Proof of Magic

by Jowita Bydlowska

Inside me there is a flattened, pear-shaped organ called a pancreas, and a collection of other slick, cooperating parts I barely think about unless ...read the full piece 
"Melancholy" by Kateryna Bortsova

Essay

Algorithmic Womanhood

by Paulina Jarantewicz

I don’t remember when I stopped looking at my body and started auditing it. It happens at 6 a. m. now, still in bed, before my eyes have fully opened. ...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 
"Merge" by Rachel Coyne

Poetry

crying with an apple in my hand

by Aida-Flavia Ciucaș

apple skin.tears driedbefore the bite. seeds sleep.no roots.no rain. an orchardof silencein my palm. ...read the full piece