The Things I’d Tell You If This Weren’t A Date By Kiley Reid
I’m overly pleased that you were on time, strangely flattered that the hostess knew you were mine, and so nervously happy I sit on my hands.
Continue readingShort Stories
I’m overly pleased that you were on time, strangely flattered that the hostess knew you were mine, and so nervously happy I sit on my hands.
Continue readingThe huge sign says ‘Japanese Culture Day.’ An arrow points at an ugly building with square windows like blisters. They are greeted at the door by two smiling, bowing
Continue reading“Ooohh,” Marie moaned as she pushed open the entrance doors. She slowly bent over, grimacing simultaneously.
Continue readingSlush—the streets and sidewalks were littered with slush. Slush marked the Christmas season in Pinhook the year I was eight. It seemed the sun had fallen over the horizon
Continue readingHey, Sarah. Just me, kiddo. I hope you’re okay, and I know you didn’t expect a call from me this evening. Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas
Continue readingI was in third grade the year Christmas changed in our house. It wasn’t the first major change in my young life, but it was a memorable one nonetheless.
Continue readingAnnual test of stamina is the last two whirlwind weeks before Christmas, and I can get down to the tinsel-wrapped wire most years exhibiting only minuscule
Continue readingGrace Andreacchi * is a novelist, poet and playwright. Works include the novels *Scarabocchio *and *Poetry and Fear*,* Music
Continue readingMarijke writes a monthly story for us. She write our segment Stories in Africa, and her stories will some day become a novel. For now please enjoy them, we are honored to have her work on our site.
Continue readingCharlie, your mother, Teresa Geddes, lived with her father in a small woodland farm in Blankets, just on the outskirts of Oldmeldrum. You have a hazy recollection
Continue readingThe neighborhood boys used glue to coat their strings with powdered glass. They’d kitefight from the tops of buildings, jerking and swinging their arms and fists so
Continue readingI found a store in Chinatown, full of exquisite pens. On one shelf I noticed a severed human finger. It was swollen, distended, obviously dead a while. I bought it
Continue readingLucy was an oddball and a loner. She only trusted one person her whole life, Sam.
Continue reading“The dead, they’re like parasites. They wait ‘til you’re ill, ‘til you can’t defend yourself. Then they swarm in, like locusts after a bountiful crop. They attach themselves like leaches, feeding off our essence.”
Continue readingThe whole concept was repulsive. Not the paganism. The freeloading, force-yourself-on-me Mardi Gras license that seems to come with it, that’s what I hate. Kids who would
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