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Indie - story
Steven Schwartz
His picture would appear in the paper, scrutinized for any sign of dementia. People would read between the lines for hints of indiscretion or scandal in his background as to what had motivated him. They’d…
Filament - story
K.L. Cook
When she was seventeen, Loretta discovered that she was pregnant with Blue Simpson’s child, a shame really. Not because Tildon turned out to be a bad son. (In fact, he would do quite well, thirty-two…
A Night Visit - story
Sheikha Hussein Helawy
Every night my father took the path from the cemetery to our house. I could hear his footsteps in the garden. I pretended to be asleep while he looked for the stick that he used…
The Blue Hotel - story
Stephen Crane
I The Palace Hotel at Fort Romper was painted a light blue, a shade that is on the legs of a kind of heron, causing the bird to declare its position against any background. The…
Sons - story
José Miguel Tomasena
1 I met Olegario and his son William in the town cantina. I’d been on the run for weeks, travelling drunkenly from one place to another. I slept in the car and ate when I…
Invisible Mending - story
Ruth Almog
In the geography lesson the teacher, Mr. Levy, was talking about the Yarkon, and for this reason Hefzibah locked herself in the Girls’ Room during the morning recess. At the beginning of the lesson, the…
One Too Many - story
Emiliano Monge
Someone, probably the ticket inspector, told him that his was the only suitcase. No one else was going to Alquila today. There’s no way it can get lost. But Hernández insisted on taking it with…
The Spectator - story
Andrés Caicedo
Ricardo González loved to go to the cinema. His first major cinematic memory, many years ago now, was of a black-and-white film about cops and robbers. Before that he only went to the cinema occasionally,…
Back then I was Just a Child - story
Guillermo Fadanelli
Back then I was just a child, and children aren’t generally prejudiced, even if most of them don’t know why they’re sitting at their wooden desks with a satchel full of pencils and exercise books…
Some Terpsichore - story
Elizabeth McCracken
1. There’s a handsaw hanging on the wall of my living room, a house key from a giant’s pocket. It’s been there a long time. “What’s your saw for?” people ask, and I say, “It’s…
