Biriyani jumped off the diving board and broke the surface of the swimming pool in a clean arc. Pale pink fluff rippled over the pool. Her legs kicked a trillion tiny dark blue jewels into the air that melted back into water.
Death and silence you decide after unzipping your pants. You put your hands on the top of the urinal and steady yourself.
Morcella is her name and we’re twelve in Miss Conway’s science class talking kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species of the kangaroo.
We should have known Eduardo would be the type to tattle. He was a hyperactive, annoying child with a tendency to boss us around, although at 8 he was younger than me by a year and had been held back in school.
The Jellyfish Yosa was doing all the usual things with his hands but I felt nothing. With the lack crept a doubt that anyone
Her mom’s idea of good music was Kirk Franklin and Beyoncé. More than once Kenzi found her mother in the living room stumbling along as she tried to “get in formation” or convince Fat Dave to put a ring on it. She even had a shrine to the singer in her bedroom, photos taped along her dresser for “inspiration.”
In July, the spare room on the second floor of their rental fills with flies. They try getting the landlord to do something—anything—about the flies, but they’ve only been in France a month and can’t remember how to say please. They keep the door to the Fly Room shut tight.
Everyone was shouting this on the first day of the summer of 1993, so loudly it took us awhile to realize we were shouting it too.
The test began. The students worked diligently to fill the bubbles they deemed appropriate. Livia watched one young man methodically draw frowny faces within each bubble and then cover them over with a flurry of graphite.
His date had neon pink shellacked fingernails. Lance couldn’t stop staring at them. The glare off them from the overhead lights was almost blinding. It reminded him of headlight beams bouncing off a rain-slicked road.
My therapist says to remember that I’m young and only human. My mother in our last phone call said that I’m a narcissist. My father wants the money back from my wedding.
M takes it from him. It sits in her palm, a squat little thing that's very white at the top but bloody at the root. She tries to remember what the different kinds of teeth are and which one this is. Around them, the other kids are screaming and prancing but M and V are still, staring at the tooth.
The city is sinking and about to go underwater. You don’t understand that the city is sinking and about to go underwater. I can smell the trash outside getting wet with anticipation.
. . IN THE MUSIC THERAPY ROOM Sound exposing floor tiles, drumming to ceiling, embattled floor. Recorded music—Tchaikovsky—wolfs me down. I shut it off and beg
After the disaster, we were shuttled in busses to the elementary school. We were a soft-footed herd. They turned us towards the entrance, combating the mass distraction of our frozen thoughts. We were demagnetized compasses, nothing but spinning needles.
. . A REWARD FOR WHIMSY I knew little about Brad when we arranged to meet. Demographics, mostly. He was thirty-seven, an adjunct with abundant graying hair. A childless
. . THE DINNER THING So, they decided to go to the dinner thing. And now Audrey is looking across the table at her husband next to her oldest
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image="22281" img_size="600x400" alignment="center" style="vc_box_rounded"][vc_column_text]The best thing about the city was the train home in winter, after she had spent the day behind the circulation desk at the public library.
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image="22280" img_size="600x400" alignment="center" style="vc_box_rounded"][vc_column_text]They get him on the way out of Trader Joe’s, with a bag of groceries in his hand thawing slowly in the summer sun. Some college
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image="22297" img_size="600x400" alignment="center" style="vc_box_rounded"][vc_column_text]White knuckles knocked on the glass. Tanya flinched then looked up to find a thin woman with an angular face, watery blue eyes, and shiny coral
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image="22274" img_size="600x400" alignment="center" style="vc_box_rounded"][vc_column_text]Every night at 8 p.m. I wait for the beautiful telemarketer to call again. Her voice has a radio liquidation. She’s lowered it like a man’s.
The woman looks confused. She stares at the girl, who is the only other moving thing in the dark of the new year. She says something that sounds like the hissing of water as it falls to a hot pan. The girl has gone through more than half the matches now, and the woman looks old enough to be her mother. She strikes another.
Oh how I longed for that excitement, oh how I longed for that feeling as I would wrap the helicopter in the dish towels given to us by Cousin Vitto and unwrap it again in a desperate attempt to capture the magic that now eluded me but had been powerfully felt not so long ago.
Luxury The narrative is only conflict or complaint. I ask my friends, If a vagina had a facial expression, what would you read? My friend A
I met Ray in the summer of 2014 while I was visiting my father in Greece. My father had moved there six months prior, after his tumultuous divorce from my
Two boarding passes and I’m sitting on a sofa in this airport, waiting for a plane again. I feel my fear in the palm of my hand. The old exhaustion. Familiar churning in my gut. It’s time to leave. I can’t wait. Outside’s a massive, swamplike heat. Humidity. I want to dip my head in acid. Clean myself out. Shake the dirt that’s all over me. It’s time to leave at last and I can’t wait, but I think something’s happened, this blinding flash of light.
My own mother wore the same handmade clothes until the day she never woke up. Try as I might, I am nowhere near the seamstress she was. So now I wear my daughter’s old clothes. She left a closet full of them, in perfect condition, after she moved out of the house. There are enough sweatshirts for me to live out my days in them.
Months after using my camera, I developed a roll of film and found you on it. I thought of Sontag writing, “The sense of the unattainable that can be evoked by photographs feeds directly into the erotic feelings of those for whom desirability is increased by distance.” I felt obvious and became embarrassed.
After rereading it you feel a weakness that draws out of you like a low tide until there are only raised boats in the mud and incredible want. Why didn’t the character in the story predict that? What did she know that you don’t?
Even when he doesn’t look as good, he still can’t quite look bad. Right after he broke up with you, he bought you a drink.
He reached into his briefcase, pulled out an apple, wiped it on his shirt, and took a large chomp. He watched himself chew in the rear-view mirror. He ate the apple’s core too because he had nowhere to dispose of it and he didn’t want to chuck it out the window in case the client pulled in at exactly that moment.
If you think I see Sibley, if you think I see Ruze, if you think I see Gran or my mom or Ms. K – sorry, you lose. In Gran’s town, the streets don’t care if you are desperate or sad – the streets, like the dark houses, like the faraway sky, like the trees, do what they’re gonna do. They keep quiet. They keep calm – each intersection on auto-light: red, green, yellow. Stop, go, slow. Green, yellow, red, green. Go slow, stop, go back…or go home.
Under her keyboard was a faint eeee. Feeble warble weakly insistent like a dog shut outside. The eeee was deep in her laptop’s guts. Her brother Mark was on video chat, her famous and handsome brother, mouth-breathing due to his rhinoplasty and making tattoo suggestions. But she could hear it between his sentences, the eeee.
There’s nothing wrong with your life, other than the obvious things. The other girl is rich, though, the kind of rich with soft hands and chauffeurs. You meet her outside her mansion, a baseball cap tipped over your face to hide it.
I also occasionally fell into a coma. I would dream of Las Vegas past, when I was a kid, when I flew down with my grandparents and we could still go to the Sands and the Silver Slipper and the Stardust. They would spend six weeks in the desert every winter in a motel two blocks off the Strip with a pool and a large Yiddish clientele.
Within a few minutes a woman in a red sweatshirt came to collect Tammy. Anisha left soon after, and then, to my consternation, so did Daniel Park. By lunchtime half the class had gone home. At the time I had a strange fondness for carrots dipped in ketchup, and it was this I was enjoying when my father appeared in the doorway.
The grandmothers walk through the front door, two and three at a time, bonding over talk of the weather. They lower their umbrellas, brush raindrops from their shawls and smooth their sheen grey hair, propped up in helmets or draped over grandmotherly shoulders. Cats and dogs, they say. Absolutely cats and dogs.
My room was just as messy as I remembered it, books and papers all over the floor, crushing the bed under their weight. This whole thing was getting farther and farther away from the story I’d written and I wasn’t sure how to get it back. Where was he anyway?
First of all the name of the creature who follows me around: Agvagvat. Watching my mouth in the mirror call her, “Hey, Agvagvat,” I can’t stand it—Agvagvat isn’t an attractive word to say. When my mouth makes those guppy sounds I look very middle aged.
In Marko and Ana’s living room in Astoria hung a framed piece of Paška čipka—Pag lace—attached to a piece of creased cerulean paper. Last year when they were packing their bags to leave Croatia, Marko told Ana not to put it in her suitcase but she was hurried and stuffed everything in.
From THE IMPOSSIBLE FAIRY TALE, by Han Yujoo. Copyright © 2017 by Han Yujoo. English translation copyright © 2017 by Janet Hong. Reproduced with the permission of Graywolf Press,
The first reason the Mistress chose you from all the rest when she discovered you abandoned like a seed lost in the rye was because you were beautiful. That your
Born landlocked, the animal trainer had been plagued all his life by whale thoughts. It made no sense. He had never seen one, would never, still his dreams brimmed
Sheri shakes me awake. She’s half out of her sleeping bag, a flashlight pressed under her chin. It’s spreading shadows across her fleshy face. Most of her sleepover had
Two weeks ago, we packed our bags and left the civilized world. We moved into an Office Max. One with trouble maintaining full lighting. Downtown. Though it is the
Her parents had moved to a retirement community with low humidity and warm sun. There was tennis and golf, indoor calisthenics and shuffleboard on outdoor courts. There were daily walks
Charlie breaks up with you over the phone but later you fly to Seattle and insist he do it in person. The initial conversation had gone something like this: You
I. On the first day it rains, we smoke in Arif’s basement. The table between us looks like it should be caving under the weight of the elaborate metal-and-clay hookah
Before anything else, he realizes he is a person. He has somehow reached this point in his success to consider the question of what is a good person? He is
Alex, suddenly cold and awkward in own his skin, clicked play on Jolene. Once Dolly was well into her desperate plea, he moved away from his desk through the leaning
From THE GRINGO CHAMPION, by Aura Xilonen. Copyright © 2015 Aura Xilonen Arroyo Oviedo. English translation copyright © 2016 by Europa Editions, translated by Andrea Rosenberg. First publication 2017 by
In the Retreat Club Diner, Bud Howard drank his second morning coffee while watching the morning news on a small television set secured in the corner. The other regulars had
Excerpt from Jesse Ruddock's story collection Shot Blue, out February 20, 2017 from Coach House Books. Available for order now here. Her mother tried to show her how to pack a
After dusk in Seattle, look for the moon. Sometimes it burns pale fire over the tree line, other times it hangs crookedly nailed to the sky; a slivered hangnail bitten
Listen, I know I said I'd go to meetings. I know I said I'd get a sponsor. But I'm busy. My work is my meetings. My work is my
There was once a man who had a love. And this love lived somewhere far away from his small corner of the world (a place called Pilgrim’s Paradise, Demoines City).
Sitting in the chair means the mouth of it swallows your ass. You don’t take to the chair, it takes to your body and keeps parts after you’ve risen from
Future Vision I take myself to a movie because I think I deserve it. I go to one of those big chain cinemas downtown, the kind with the reclining vinyl
Gutting a pale fish with my father, the strongman. He turns it in his hands once, twice, plops it on the chopping block, belly up. Swallows the air. The thing
. Excerpt from Edie Meidav's story collection Kingdom of the Young, out April 11, 2017 from Sarabande Books. Available for pre-order now here. Don’t worry, I didn’t take all the soaps. I
They don’t do it small in India. Even a regular thundershower is mounted on the scale of a Hollywood disaster movie, shot on 70 mm on the coast of Iceland
Since Ray got sprung from Bellamy Creek Correctional, it’s been better and worse and the same. Delia, for better or worse. And the same all-night radio show tiding him over,
The girl is dead. Is she a girl? She’s old enough for shimmer lipgloss, for a boyfriend. There she is in photographs, her brother’s arm large on her shoulders, grinning
Roland was a Marxist—probably the only Marxist in Lagos or even the whole country, he was sure. He believed that there was a “ruling class” in Nigeria and he was
Excerpt from Gabe Bump‘s forthcoming novel Get Down, Claude. July before I started 8th grade, Paul had this scare. A fuzzy blemish on an x-ray. After tests and hours of
At the Meet-Up event, most of the women wore sexy tribal costumes, but I dressed up as Pumba from the Lion King. The elastic snout kept falling down over my
It was April again, and the feet were getting ripe. They hung from our large tree’s lower branches, emitting a scent similar to an old, damp rag, swinging back and
Moths died in daylight, nocturnal no longer. That summer. It was always one hundred and two degrees. The moths and their noon wing death. That summer. It was hard for
Lizzie sits in a room because everything is a room. Right now, the room is a field and the field is corn. The sun is slow and turning the wheat,
It is 6:56am PST, and I watch a car drive across a bridge. The passenger, who for this record I will call Child, presses her face against the window. The
Bound to the earth ten paces from the willow, Frankie calls to her mother. A dream of what she might have been appears solid, white hem dragging through the dust.
One day, when they were giving the dog a bath, he proposed. He swished his arm around in the tub and produced a ring that winked its white glaucomic eye.
We weren’t in a barbershop. He sat in a wooden slat-back chair on our mother’s kitchen floor and looked up at me. His face was upside down from my view
1. The neighbor had upwards of eighty succulents laced around the wood beams of his staircase. You saw him every day watering the plants, sometimes in nothing more than a
When I was a kid, you were an idiot if you wore shorts in this city. The only times I remember having them on were during soccer games (for practice
I am Seth Rogen’s Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, and I’m obsessed with the words “harlequin” and “inquiline.” The caryatid stops by our table one morning and asks if she can
Early on in the summer, my mother, my father and I ran out of adjectives to describe exactly how hot we were feeling. Then my mother caught depression. Also from
Excerpt from Michelle Tea‘s novel Black Wave, released in September from Feminist Press. Michelle wasn’t sure when everyone started hanging out at the Albion. She had managed to pass the corner dive
INAUGURAL COSMONAUTS AVENUE FICTION PRIZE WINNER After much thought, Pam and I decide to fix our faces. We save up until we can afford what we want and get a
No one should ever speak to anyone else if they aren’t willing to risk total exposure. Alex had a nasty habit of twirling her hair, twisting it into beetle-dense knots,
We used to come here for driftwood. That was when Sidney first took me in, when I wasn’t sure yet whether or not he was a perv. He kept his
Pamir roared from the bottom of his stomach, clapped loudly, pounded his feet on the ground and screeched, “Keeeeeeek! Keeeeeeek!” But the crows lined up on the power line didn’t
Ben blows through a stop sign and I say You’re a goddamn jackass Ben. Two states from home and he’s already giving the cops excuses. Turn signals and speed limits
There were no flowers near the house, no decorative plants. Just grass, cut short enough to kill it in some places and several trees. The grass was edged cleanly along
Excerpts from Meredith Alling's story collection Sing the Song, out November 18, 2016 from Future Tense Books. Available for pre-order now at futuretensebooks.com Symbiosis I was in a brightly lit
Charlie really wasn't stalking her. Really. It took daily talking-to-self to convince Charlie of that, but Charlie knew. This wasn't stalking. This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation.
She planted a single seed in each of his ears while he slept, tweezing in the first, then waiting patiently for him to turn. They weren’t seeds she could readily
Out where we’re from, anything unpredictable is female. Countries, weather, the sea. “She’s gonna be some hot,” Henry would say when we climbed aboard in the wee hours. Or
"A morbid streak runs through the whole of my family, but for you I could put it to rest." — Vampire Weekend Survive Low hums of machines tell you that you
Reeking of pond scum and cedar smoke, the alien asks for divorce. He looks like Alexander, yes. Squat, bow-legged, with a low centre of gravity useful for turning life’s sharp
When it’s hot, I think of Michelle. Usually, when she crosses my mind, I’m filled with a regret that makes my pores sizzle with dread. For that reason, I try
When I wake up my eyes are crusted shut. When I wake up under a cotton candy sky my eyes are crusted shut. When I wake up to a cotton
The sound wakes me. A dull thud. I pop up in bed like one of those inflatable air dancers, the kind used to advertise blowouts at furniture warehouses and car
When we came upon Number 15 the last time, he’d already been killed, having been shot fatally by local law enforcement in a Northwest Georgia carpet-manufacturing city, which had been
She grips the handle of her suitcase hard, so hard her fingers begin to cramp. The wave of passengers buoys her toward Arrivals. A sudden intestinal twist in the corridor
I woke up this morning thinking about David. I woke up this morning, next to Graham, my sleeping husband, thinking about David. I woke up this morning, next to Graham,
Marla was a polite woman. If a man wanted to sleep with her she never refused. With each new man, she adopted a cat—Fluffers McGee for John, Marion for Paul,
These are the things that have changed about Toronto since I left it. There are about 239 new identical 25-floor condos, where young urban dwellers buy overpriced apartments called ‘cubes,’
He was the winner of everything in the universe. With a glorious head of hair coiffed into a state of perfection, and a magnificent tan that in no way looked
In her last days, when they no longer try to lure her from her narrow bed, she hears singing, lullabies like those her mother sang to her in Ladino or