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“My father’s brown dressing gown was hanging on a hook on the wall. I buried my head in the gown and kissed it. Afterwards I held the empty sleeves and stroked my face with the rough, warm wool. ‘I won’t cry, ‘I promised myself”.
“Life is a snowball of lost meaning. I let myself go day by day, trying not to lose my innocence all at once, in a matter of days, but gradually, in a matter of years.”
After the story’s intoxicating journey through an Istanbul suspended between yesterday and today, the reader takes the ferry back to more familiar shores, their way lit by the ever-present moon.
What does it mean to leave something behind? The Spanish author Margarita Leoz with a wonderful story about the less tangible materials that make a house.
“I remembered the custom that women once used to measure their lovers’ graves with strings, and then they folded the strings and doubled them and made wicks of wax candles in honor of their lovers”
What would you do if you caught someone stealing cookies in your local bakery? Would you make her pay or become a silent partner in sin?
Hefzibah’s father has died, and her friends think they can tell her how she should mourn. A moving coming of age story by one of Israel’s greatest writers.
A fat girl is standing in the library. She doesn’t want books, but she does want sandwiches . Who is this stupid, fat girl? Marie Luise Kaschnitz’s modern classic about the curses of the past.
Boozing, snogging, chewing the fat, riding to the Black Sea on a Vespa and fishing for rockets from the bridge on New Year’s Eve… A chronicle an “it’s complicated” relationship in 31 dazzling micro-chapters.
“Yes, I dance, he said while dancing, I dance all the time, as long as I dance I’m alive, because life is one big dance, you go around and around and get dizzy. And don’t you dance?”
The Short Story Project © | Ilamor LTD 2017
Lovingly crafted by Oddity&Rfesty