Fiction
Story of the Week
Ms. Marmelstein led with her eyelashes, curling out like scimitars.
Fiction
Late March 2002. “Mud time”—so called in Mad River Junction, Ohio.
Story of the Week
He was tall too—that was part of the impression of big, of lots, of plenty.
Fall Contest Winners
He would sneak into my room, we would have sex, he would sneak out.
Story of the Week
I must never go to the garden without a heavy stick or a corn-knife.
iStories
She rocks quickly from side to side, proud, lifting herself higher.
Story of the Week
He looked a look of vicious happiness and eagerly pried the watch open.
Story of the Week
Susan Ann so wants to be that girl—daring, free, divinely sensual.
Story of the Week
We didn’t think of ourselves as anything so grand as sex workers.
Story of the Week
It suddenly seemed to her that the world was filled with little miracles.
There were moments when love overcame her despair.
Fiction
The owners of the rental left three gifts on the kitchen table for us to enjoy.
Story of the Week
The phone rang at an awkward hour, too late at night to be good news.
Story of the Week
I promised to return, but secretly I dreamed of staying in America.
Spring Contest Winners
My mother was dead. Almost a month she was dead, killed by me.
Story of the Week
She knew Jim would be a terrible husband. They’d murder each other.
Story of the Week
If he was going to pick me up, the least he could do was look at me.
Story of the Week
He betook himself to the metropolis to become a literary man, of course.
Winter Contest Winners
Ten years ago, when I was in college, my father divorced my mother and said he wanted me to become responsible for her. That is why I fled to Italy.
Spring Contest Winners
Firing stopped, and Bedouins herded camels across the artillery range.
Winter Contest Winners
The graffiti suggests the most essential story of New Haven.
Story of the Week
A finger on the bell, a quick sprint on light feet, and then stifled laughter.
Story of the Week
I hang there, upside down, watching Bronwyn, her face beatific.
Story of the Week
I want these things to have another life, like the old garden behind our house.
First-Person Winners
Dad was blind until six months ago, when he bumped his head in the fire.
