My father was a somniloquist; he only talked to me in his sleep. Lured at night by his one-sided conversation one room over, I would escape the cot I'd grown out of, gaze at my sleeping mother, and
...
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Short Fiction
Short Fiction
In a Handful of Dust
A witch wind was howling out in the desert. I was praying for a storm to scour Coaling Depot 6 down to the ground, wipe it right off the Arizona Territory map. Apart from prayer, I still had a shot
...
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Short Fiction
Francis Valencia Ortiz
For all his life, Frank had been at war with the willows. They sprouted in and around the stream, clogged the irrigation ditches, and choked off the water flow.
His land, a narrow plain between ... [+]
His land, a narrow plain between ... [+]
Short Fiction
Chekhov, the Old Man, the Seagull and the Crab
The old man is watching a seagull eviscerating a crab. The decapod crustacean probably was handsome in his youth but not any longer. Does he wish he could scream? Or is it better to be stoic and
...
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Short Fiction
When the Door Is Blue
The second house on the left. If the door is blue, you're welcome. Red, you've come too early. Green, too late.
The meaningless chant comes to me whole. I can't remember where I've heard it, but ... [+]
The meaningless chant comes to me whole. I can't remember where I've heard it, but ... [+]
Short Fiction
Double-Edged
"I killed a man before, you know."
It's 3:12 pm, an awkward time for us to be preparing food. I'm not sure if we're making a late lunch, an early dinner, or just afternoon tea. I've been ... [+]
It's 3:12 pm, an awkward time for us to be preparing food. I'm not sure if we're making a late lunch, an early dinner, or just afternoon tea. I've been ... [+]
Short Fiction
The Pugilist in Repose on His Porch, Most Sundays
The moments of lucidity were rarer and rarer, but when they came, he regaled me with tales of swallowed teeth, basement brawls, and AIDS tests administered at midnight in ramshackle midtown health
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Things with Permanence
My husband's nose changed first—a nearly imperceptible spot-the-difference puzzle on a face I'd known for twenty-two years. Through our kitchen's bay windows, the morning sunlight highlighted his
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Borrowed Memories
Mamma always had a love for other people's possessions.
One of my earliest memories is walking to the park, my hand firmly tucked into hers. I was an impulsive child, and likely would have darted ... [+]
One of my earliest memories is walking to the park, my hand firmly tucked into hers. I was an impulsive child, and likely would have darted ... [+]
Short Fiction
Bread and Iron
We are simple people. For us, fulfillment comes from hammering a piece of iron into a useful shape; from plowing the black soil for the new crop; from kneading the dough for the bread we all need
...
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Short Fiction
You Give Me Butterflies
There's nothing I love more than eating. Mmm, yes. Fat Boy loves a good meal. I enjoy the crunch, the squish, even the quietest sizzles as I grind every little particle between my molars. I cherish
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Swimming Lessons
The liftoff is like an elevator.
You know that feeling you get when you're going up? Like your stomach is getting left behind? It feels like that. Remember when we were kids and we were staying ... [+]
You know that feeling you get when you're going up? Like your stomach is getting left behind? It feels like that. Remember when we were kids and we were staying ... [+]
Short Fiction
Blueberry and Sky
There is no cheerful clatter of pans, or old Beatles records spinning in the living room. No warm cinnamon smell fills the air – only burnt coffee. For a moment, I'm half expecting Papa to swoop me
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Fred Is (Not) an Arsonist
Fred is an arsonist—and, Fred is not an arsonist. Let me explain: Fred has thought of fire, its power and grace, for a long time. Perhaps since he was a child. He often watched fires, mesmerized by
...
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