On his first day at the Bengaluru Metropolitan Transport Corporation, twenty-five year old Masti Govind Swamy, named after the village of Masti, where his father, not he, was born, found to his ... [+]
My life changed the day Cleopatra corporealized in the outdoor food court during our lunch rush. Corporealized. Bet you're surprised I know such a big word, but I do love me a good ghost story. Love ... [+]
They always say the final sense to go is hearing, but touch lasts right 'til the end. Not over the whole body, though; I can't feel Dot's hand in mine, but this fucking diaper itches like blazes. I ... [+]
The realtor moves from room to room in silence. Charlotte and I follow, anxiously awaiting his verdict. Through the kitchen, the living room, the study. Upstairs, in and out of bedrooms. He ... [+]
The way Little Miss Perfect tells it, you'd think I was head of a gang of street thugs when I was a kid. We weren't thugs, we were twelve. All we wanted was some prize money, or at least a bit of ... [+]
It was a muggy morning at Cozy Cottage Nursing Home, and the arthritis was bothering me pretty bad. Hurt to move. Hurt to type. Still does, matter of fact. That's why, when they asked me for an ... [+]
"This is the last straw," Alma said. She had just opened the mail at the kitchen table. Sitting opposite, Walter peered over the top of his newspaper. "What straw is that?" "It's anothe ... [+]
Terrydale was a hamlet much too small to be located on any map, and so war came to it as it comes to such places—not through the trampling of armies over its quaint town square, or the burning of ... [+]
I had just gotten out of the gas station and bought what I usually bought on my little Sunday night trips—a pack of reds, a water bottle (one of the purified waters. Spring water is quite gross to ... [+]
The DeliverBot drops the box at my feet and wheezes out a metallic "Happy Birthday" before flying away. At first, I think it's a mistake, because it isn't my birthday. At least, I don't think it is ... [+]
My daughters run across the hard-packed sand, their blonde hair—Maureen's hair—streaming out behind them. They are three little replicas of my wife. As always, the worry grips my heart with icy ... [+]
"Three of hearts," the demon says. He's lounging on Joseph's bed, deck of cards in his hands and shirt riding up over his stomach. He glances up, fangs flashing in a bright grin as if he can feel ... [+]
It was the summer of '82, my first year at Saint Vincent's. I'd just arrived in the city, a newly minted nurse from the Midwest, and taken an apartment on Perry Street with three other nurses. He was ... [+]
Dear Editor,
Attached is my short story, "Lovestruck." Please publish it in your magazine as I see it becoming a runaway success.
Best,
Nancy
(P.S. It's allegorical.)
... [+]
It was the splatter of liquid on my face that woke me. Shitty-quality beer, with a taste of loam. Awareness returned as it puddled beneath me, where the tree roots grew against my back. Feet on the ... [+]
Joe's knuckles bled, the result of inflation.
Tonya was some sort of greedy little Tinker Bell wannabe. She even had the wings to go along with it. She wore them every single day. The whole idiotic
... [+]
Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who was stolen by a terrible necromancer. He and his rotting, clanking horde abducted her from the palace gardens and carried her away and away until ... [+]