the short story project


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Tamagotchi - story

Adam Marek

My son’s Tamagotchi had AIDS. The virtual pet was rendered on the little LCD screen with no more than 30 pixels, but the sickness was obvious. It had that AIDS look, you know? It was…

Safe Zone

Safe Zone - story

Deakla Keydar

I wash my hands, scrubbing them. They still smell of shit. 1. Sophie went joyfully down the slide, straight into Danny’s waiting arms. When he offered to help her climb back up, she said, “By…

An Enchanting Evening

An Enchanting Evening - story

Margarita Leoz

That night we were having guests for dinner, and Ines had been in a frenzy all week. She hunted down innovative recipes on the internet and buried my desk in sheets of paper as she…

The Need to Be a Son

The Need to Be a Son - story

Andrea Jeftanovic

How could I serve myself from such distant plates, when the home had broken, when not even mother could be forced from the lips. How could I dine on nothing. César Vallejo I was born…

Copy and Paste

Copy and Paste - story

Yoav Rosen

In those days I talked a lot about weapons. There was Alex, the lone soldier who lived with the old lady. It was unclear whether they were related. On Friday afternoons Alex was always out…

The Lego Idol

The Lego Idol - story

Jon Bilbao

I should begin by apologizing for sending this letter out of the blue. At first, I thought I’d call on you at home so we could talk about all this face to face, but then…

The Islands

The Islands - story

Marina Perezagua

  To Narciso, protector of shipwrecks   The kids insisted on buying an inflatable float on our way to the beach. They chose the biggest one, a yellow circle with some rocks and a crab…

An Imperfect Day

An Imperfect Day - story

Giovanna Rivero

Seated on a tree trunk, Marcelino draws circles in the sand with his index finger because it would be difficult to draw with his thumb.  In fact, his index finger and thumb are the only…

My Parents and My Children

My Parents and My Children - story

Samanta Schweblin

“Where are your parents’ clothes?” Marga asks. She crosses her arms and waits for me to answer. She knows that I don’t know and that I need her to ask another question. On the other…


Ishmael - story

Shimon Adaf

Lacking any alternative image, we turn to the moment of creation. The form bursting from the awkwardness of matter. No, not the awkwardness, the indifference towards being. This time, I am ready; this time, I’ve…