Classic and Contemporary Stories
Kunin, a wealthy landowner and member of the Rural Board, invites Father Yakov, the young village priest, to discuss opening a church school. Kunin is shocked by Father Yakov’s shabby appearance and lack of dignity, seeing him as unfit for the priesthood.
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He listened to the sound of rain on the roof. It sounded to him like crackling, and he imagined a raging fire above his head. He couldn’t catch fire himself because he was soaked in perspiration. He’d run until he was out of breath and ended up where he thought they wouldn’t be looking for him
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I watch them together, though I’m supposed to be in my room. They’re sitting too close. Cigarette smoke trails in front of my eyes as I sit huddled in the corner.
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She ran away from home, and Pastor Bruce was dismayed after talking with her mother. Her mother said she’d been sullen for the last month or so, and even the school nurse called once.
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I was born with a birthmark that looked like a bruised flower. It trailed along the left side of my face, from hairline to where neck and shoulder met. I grew accustomed to open stares, sidelong glances, and children being chastised for pointing.
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Three elderly women stood huddled in a corner of the funeral home, whispering and glaring at the deceased’s wife.
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Today is the worst day I have ever experienced. But it’s not over yet. It’s not going to end for thousands of seconds. Thousands of raw, grating seconds. I know, I’m the one with the problem. Not you. You have coping mechanisms. Your brain has worked out that to experience every second of every day would quickly lead to
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The freaks are out again tonight. I hear them howling. I hear branches cracking off trees. There were out last night, too. It has been warm and heat draws them to the streets. It’s been like this since the war, or since the raids, but really it started with the slave ships.
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It was dark, and the party was going to start on the other side of the freshly-plowed south pasture anytime. Bob impatiently stomped through the damp earth toward the Thompson Farm.
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At the ripe age of 21, Ariel lives in failure of that first step. She’s filing papers now, an administrative assistant at the Dropbox headquarters in the heart of Silicon Valley. She watches the computer engineers check in and out behind the front desk on the third floor, and all day this plagues her with a sense of inadequacy. She thinks about her upbringing in an upper-middle class
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