Fiction
iStories
“Being gay’s not a sin,” as if it's obvious why I don’t belong in church.
Story of the Week
I yanked him halfway out of his car and punched him in the nose.
Story of the Week
Why do you keep so much from your husband, don’t you trust him?
Story of the Week
Her mother always complained Sara was different after a night at Judy’s.
Story of the Week
I wish I could tell him he’s not going to hell. It would be so freeing for him.
Fiction
He tried to regain that moment of grace, but there was no conjuring it.
Story of the Week
His voice was wrung with panic as he spit curses like spoiled milk.
Winter Contest Winners
Unnatural as a ghost; the thought rose unbidden to his mind.
Story of the Week
Instead, she stares right at us, her shoulder half-naked in broad daylight.
Story of the Week
From that day on, Sivaprakasam got embroiled in an ungodly mess.
Story of the Week
Her anger was white and cold. It sent seams of ice through my heart.
Story of the Week
She was here. She could not go on. It was the end—the end of the world.
Classics
Her knees seemed about to give way, and he quickly grabbed her elbow.
Fiction
Our grandmothers were bakers and nurses, spies and traitors.
Story of the Week
The night before my mother’s double mastectomy, we went skinny-dipping.
Story of the Week
All of those feelings—you do not have them, they have you.
Fiction
A scene from the night before comes rushing forward like a dream.
Spring Contest Winners
He loathed them most, despising their desire to get on with things.
Fiction
Brod stopped her before she could fling the latte in Marcella’s face.
Fiction
Colonel Hammer glares, willing us to attention. A few pilots sit up.
Story of the Week
The day was beyond the reach of words like tragic and hilarious.
Masterpieces
I thought how she must thrash with savage agility when she made love.
Fiction
The barman emanated paranoia, the male customers sat introspecting.
Story of the Week
Somehow my confession became a sharp knife I kept hidden in a drawer.
Story of the Week
The story of Wing Biddlebaum’s hands is worth a book in itself.
Fiction
Your life is your own and then suddenly it belongs to someone else.
