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Nightly Lament

Nightly Lament - story

Naji Daher

I could smell the stench of death. From the first shades of darkness, I smelt the stench of death. A stench above me, a stench below me. Wherever I turned, I smelt the same stench….

Like Hunger, Like Love

Like Hunger, Like Love - story

Giuseppe Caputo

For Carlos, for our hunger     As a boy I was hungry, bam. I came home running, jumping, and my mother would say: “Cut it out! Don’t move so much or you’ll be even…

River of Honey, Lake of Milk

River of Honey, Lake of Milk - story

Ahmed Omar

Hadiya would visit us with her mother. On sunny days, we did our homework together under the grapevine; in winter, we did it by the stove. Her books were often torn: she didn’t like books…

You Are the Bad Smell

You Are the Bad Smell - story

Kathy Anderson

“This isn’t the one,” she said, laying her hand on my arm. As if she was really sorry. “Stick a fork in me. I’m done,” I said. “No. You’re just upset. You thought this was…

Words to Live By

Words to Live By - story

Aimee LaBrie

He’s confused. Too shy. His sister died of leukemia when he was thirteen. He’s not over his wife yet. He’s intimidated by your sarcastic sense of humor. You’re smarter than he is and he can’t…

The Voice

The Voice - story

Silvina Ocampo

The autumn felt more like summer than the summer had. I was wearing my blue silk dress, and I had the little Pekinese they’d given me for my birthday when I arrived at my boyfriend’s…

Simidolia

Simidolia - story

Marcelo Cohen

One Sunday afternoon a family was digesting its midday meal and having a desultory debate about which of the many dishes they’d just put away was chiefly responsible for their present lethargy. From one corner…

Abracadabra

Abracadabra - story

Diane Goodman

  The restaurant is crazy busy and my entire head is engulfed in the heat and steam and smell of all the dishes being cooked and readied on the line. I am tired. I am…

He and She

He and She - story

Anton Chekhov

They are nomads. Only Paris is graced with their presence for months; they are stingy to Berlin, Vienna, Neapoli, Madrid and other capitals. In Paris they feel quasi-at home. For them, Paris is the capital,…

Ladybird

Ladybird - story

Latifa Labsir

I held an unusually long reed in my hand and I dipped it as deep as I could into the river. It fell in and disappeared in front of me. I took my feet out…