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Zoya

Zoya - story

Alice Bialsky

Our school was named after Zoya Kosmodemyanskaya, the first woman awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. Because of that, we constantly had lectures about her life: how well Zoya did in school,…

Antropolis

Antropolis - story

Sharma Shields

My hatred for Agnes led directly to our family’s appearance on Oprah. You’d say, oh, you didn’t hate her; she was just your older sister. But she was not my older sister. She looked older,…

How I Went to School

How I Went to School - story

Tera Fabiánová

My mother said to me: ‘You must go to school, or they will lock up your father.’ There were five of us children at home, four girls and one boy. The eldest was my sister,…

Heart of Stone

Heart of Stone - story

Nir Yehudai

On the night before her last spell in the hospital, Dawn was haunted again by that old dream about the stone men. As always, she woke the moment she couldn’t stand being terrorized any longer….

Seeing Miles

Seeing Miles - story

Steven Schwartz

David stared at Mimi’s picture, taken at his bar mitzvah twenty-five years ago. She was his cousin, a second cousin, and she and her family had come out to Milwaukee from Brooklyn for the occasion….

Eveline

Eveline - story

James Joyce

She sat at the window watching the evening invade the avenue. Her head was leaned against the window curtains and in her nostrils was the odour of dusty cretonne. She was tired. Few people passed….

The Daughters of the Late Colonel

The Daughters of the Late Colonel - story

Katherine Mansfield

I The week after was one off the busiest weeks of their lives. Even when they went to bed it was only their bodies that lay down and rested; their minds went on, thinking things…

Flies

Flies - story

Eshkol Nevo

It was the last summer before they gave the Sinai back to Egypt. I was thirteen and I drove with my parents and their friends down to Ras Burka. I think that must have been…

Memories from Haifa

Memories from Haifa - story

Mati Shemoelof

One day, when I was nine or ten years old, my uncle sent me alone from my father’s clothing shop to the post office in downtown Haifa. I’m not sure whether it was my idea…

After Arbor Day

After Arbor Day - story

Ruth Almog

At the beginning of winter my father fell ill and took to his bed. He lay in bed for a long time with his bedroom door closed, and we would walk around the house on…