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“Get the hell off my car,” she yelled, and the kids scattered like fish.

Sonja slapped her sister. How could she shed tears for the past?

Narrative Prize and Pushcart winner Anthony Marra reads “Chechnya.”

Sonja slapped her sister. How could she shed tears for the past?

“Leaving for war, Hayes wept. He didn’t just cry; he wept...”

Betsy recoiled, understanding instinctively what was to come.

I knew my father started the fire. It’s not the first place he’s burned down.

I stood there, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me.

I would chase it to the shores of the lake where the killer waited.

Audio clips of Pultizer Prize winner Jennifer Egan on her work.

You see, I plan on remaining here as the most foolish god in the world.

Bo could live with his contradictions. They were what made him whole.

I pass my hands over my eyes, mired by the miti-
gation of routine.

The school’s committed to an all-sterile facility by the year 2025.

There’s nothing left to do but crush the garlic, check the water on the stove.

To enter the dust of their bedroom, to stand invisible on the plush carpet.

Silence, it turned out, was a thing you could buy.

Do the work. Every day. Take a step back and see if you love it.

Husk was sturdy. He just breathed like it. Not like me. My lungs rattle.

They lived on the street, their mom a prostitute and heroin addict.

There is a pure fear, in waking somewhere you have not lain down. She runs until her blisters bleed. Then, she runs some more.

His beginnings, his genesis as a writer, and the fateful connections between life and art.

Here's an affecting glimpse into a story of fatherhood.

Without you, would I still be reaching out for myself now?

And so it was clear that Mia was still basically a teenager.

Let us not forget the desuetude of nailed-shut carousels.

The places in between places are like countries themselves.

I have never seen a bird, but I tell stories of creatures that walk the sky.

“If a man wanted, he could be anything and not come back.”