Fiction
Fiction
Please, Theresa thought, as a tenderness surged within herself.
Story of the Week
I can’t talk yet. But I know things. I will tell you all this later when I can.
Story of the Week
Ah, yes, Rita reminded herself: I won. Her Mistress of Mayhem award.
Spring Contest Winners
I believed in department stores the way I believed in Germany.
Spring Contest Winners
Keely finally stops crying when they step outside. The shock of cold.
Story of the Week
I wouldn’t sleep a second, knowing the catastrophe I’d set in motion.
Fall Contest Winners
I commute to war five days a week in a station wagon the color of an egg.
iStories
I opened my eyes and they burned; I closed them and saw my father.
Story of the Week
Like a ghost, he appeared at the entrance of his hermitage.
Story of the Week
Mina sees, very clearly, Tony Salvatore looking up her gaping shirt.
Fiction
The dead children were wheeled away, covered with white sheets.
Story of the Week
Why does she do it? She knows cutting yourself is a joke. Goth, idiotic.
Story of the Week
I hate it here, but I’ll make the best of it, because that’s what mothers do.
Story of the Week
I was all alone in a little room, nothing but that big gun in my face.
Story of the Week
Your intelligence and charisma would serve you well in life.
Fiction
My father stood up, unable to choose which one of us to kill first.
Fiction
She knew what boys can do to girls: if the girls are alone, and helpless.
Classics
The sunrise does not blaze fiercely but spreads in a gentle flush.
Story of the Week
Maybe she’s gay. I wonder if she masturbates when I’m out of the room.
Fiction
“One of my genetic gifts, and don’t you want to know what the other one is?”
iStories
I’m not here to remember a friend, but to say good-bye to a part of myself.
Spring Contest Winners
I looked out at the busy world, and I saw nothing but its ugly bones.
Fiction
Pete gazes into his mother’s soul and finds a piece of smoldering coal.
Story of the Week
She transfigured into a swallow in flight, or a hippo in the rainy season.
Story of the Week
In your postpartum state, your best hope is to bluff your way through.
Fiction
If a friend’s family is persecuted, call Sinn Fein on that number.
Love Story Contest
She has wings of rouge on her cheekbones, her beak blood red.
Fall Contest Winners
He left the Meijer in the dark of the April evening and drove to the Embassy.
