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Deception or Dreams of the Man Who Didn’t Lose His Shadow - story
Waciny Laredj
1 Was it merely deception or something more? The paths were so exhausting, and the days were so hard! Wouldn’t it have been better to take the short-cuts? Nothing is of any…
The Socialist - story
Ryūnosuke Akutagawa
He was a young socialist. His father, a minor official, had thus threatened to disown him. Yet he had remained true to his convictions, for he was possessed of both burning zeal and supportive friends….
Black Foam - story
Haji Jaber
A Chapter from the novel, Black Foam (7) He placed the suitcase lightly into the tray, and then took off to meet it on the other side. However, the soldier across from him…
Globalization - story
Suheil Kiwan
I’d only been married six years when I started feeling tired and out of breath, especially when I was going up stairs. At first I thought it was a passing problem that would just go…
The Detainee’s Tale as told to Ali Smith - story
Ali Smith
The first thing that happens, you tell me, is that school stops. We are meeting in a room in a London university so that you can tell me, in anodyne safe surroundings, a bit about…
The Dependant’s Tale as told to Marina Lewycka - story
Marina Lewycka
The nighTMaRe always sTaRTs in the same way: a big man standing at the foot of my bed, shouting at me. ‘Get up! Hurry hurry hurry! Pack up your stuff! We’ve come to take you…
Miracle of the Horses - story
Marina Tsvetayeva
(A true story) Since she was beautiful and foolish —and she became more foolish when she was beautiful and more beautiful when she was foolish — and since he loved her, and since he had…
The Policeman and the Horse - story
Zakaria Tamer
Abu Mustafa parked his carriage next to the sidewalk. With a large, gnarled hand he patted his horse’s head, then headed into the nearby shop. He began hoisting bags of firewood on his back and…
A Handful of Dirt - story
Jan Dost
As soon as he saw his friend, who had just arrived from back home, in the airport arrivals lounge, he asked him, “Did you bring it?” His friend gestured to the backpack hanging off of…
The Last Communist - story
Steven Schwartz
My parents always had visitors. They would come in the evening and sit in folding chairs on the back porch of our small house in New Brunswick. They greeted me—an only child —with the…
