"Dead Fern has a taste for the sad, dark, peculiar, and sometimes disturbing. If you've found your work hard to place in other publications, we encourage you to send it our way. "
Vibe: Send us your fucking worst
Response time:
1-2 months
Payment:
No
Simultaneous submissions:
Yes
Previously published:
No
Submission fee:
Free
Expedited submissions:
No
Available in print:
No
Examples online:
Yes

Genres

👌

Fiction

Max words: 1000
👌

Nonfiction

Max words: 3000
👌

Poetry

Max pieces: 3

Examples

'inhaler' by carl fuerst

(excerpt)
It started at 3pm at Holy Harvest Food & Drug. I reached into the cooler for a Lunchable and he stepped behind me, rested his hand on my hip, snaked his arm around my waist, and snatched a pack of hot dogs from the shelf. His hand sailed over my ribs as he withdrew. Loose wisps of hair ringed his spotted scalp. Mats of hair covered his forearms and the backs of his hands. Tufts of it sprouted from the button-holes of his golf shirt, curling toward me like beckoning fingers.
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'Florida Man Tokes Up, Sleeps Through the Apocalypse' by Magi Sumpter

(excerpt)
A 2PM calm washes over our main character as he rolls off his mattress and onto the floor. For a moment, he lays face down on the ground, soaking up as much cool as he can in the middle of such a humid, face-eating summer. Why is it so fuckin’ hot? He only moves when his cat pads over to where he is laying and settles herself in the curve between ass and back, kneading biscuits into his sore spine. He slept twisted up again—sober sleeping does those sorts of things to him, so he avoids it whenever possible.
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'but the thing is' by megan cannella

(excerpt)
I can only listen to the Yonder Mountain String Band version of “No Rain,” because once you told everyone in the bar that I was the little girl in the bumble bee costume in the Blind Melon “No Rain” video. I don’t remember the first time you said this. But I remember the second time. I always wonder if there really was a first time or if you were fucking with me because you could. Because I always wanted to believe in you. Fake it til you make it, amirite? Now, that song reminds me of a version of you we always wished you actually were. That would have been easier for both of us.
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'The Day I Wrote His Obituary' by c. cimmone

(excerpt)
I got so drunk I was scared to swallow my antidepressants
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