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The Treasure

The Treasure - story

Yusuf Idris

Abdul Aal was a tall, dark-skinned plain-clothes policeman. On the back of his right hand he had an open-mouthed fish with a cleft tail and a spot on its eye. Abdul Aal was a detective….

Some People Run in Shorts

Some People Run in Shorts - story

Sólrún Michelsen

A runner asked me one morning on my way to work, “Hey, you. Can you tell me what time it is?” I replied, “Ten to.” “To what?” he asked. I stared at him briefly. “To…

The Dead

The Dead - story

James Joyce

Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, was literally run off her feet. Hardly had she brought one gentleman into the little pantry behind the office on the ground floor and helped him off with his overcoat than…

Autumn (A Fairy Tale)

Autumn (A Fairy Tale) - story

Leah Goldberg

On dark, stormy nights they would run through the sleeping streets, burning torches in their hands, and no one saw their faces and no one knew their names. And the echoes of the steps of…

None So Blind

None So Blind - story

Joe Haldeman

It all started when Cletus Jefferson asked himself “Why aren’t all blind people geniuses?” Cletus was only 13 at the time, but it was a good question, and he would work on it for 14…

 The Photographer

 The Photographer - story

Muhammad Hamad

The death of my grandfather, Abu Kamel, God rest his soul, felt like the end of an era. I used to see him as my link to the past, that distance that stretches all the…

Down the Path

Down the Path - story

Juan Cárdenas

Almost, almost there, but not quite. Something woke me up. A noise. I’m dripping wet, but I didn’t get there. I’m still half asleep. Nearly, but not quite. The wind is blowing through the coffee…

The Last Thing We Need

The Last Thing We Need - story

Claire Vaye Watkins

July 28 Duane Moser 1077 Pincay Drive Henderson, Nevada 89015 Dear Mr Moser On the afternoon of June 25 while on my last outing to Rhyolite, I was driving down Cane Springs Road some ten…

Possible Paths

Possible Paths - story

Margarita Iov

I write: Vera’s coat has a button missing – the dog got it. She looks over my shoulder. One day he’ll get me, too, says Vera, you’ll see. I say: Don’t be silly. The dog…

Milkface

Milkface - story

Jan Snela

It was a Wednesday and time for my milk bath. But the light white liquid in angular packs – sucked from udders in farmyards, purloined from bovines, diversely digested from greenest grasses for calves, stirred…