Mundane solidarity helped us meet outside of linear time and embrace ourselves as the whole suns we are.
She, like the others, could only slightly feel the edge of some thoughts, and some memories. It was better that way, they all agreed.
Astrological insights from our inaugural twelve flash stories
Everybody thinks you become someone different when you’re someplace different, but it’s not true, you come back and you turn the same again.
The white Liang mansion was melting viscously into the white mist, leaving only the greenish gleam of the lamplight shining through square after square of the green windowpanes, like ice cubes in peppermint schnapps.
These days I’ve grown tired of my heart, how much feeling it has required, and would much prefer to laugh.
In the shelter of our happiness, his shell shone brighter and brighter until one day, it split open and crumbled into dust to reveal a baby, golden skinned and blinking up at me.
She was a prisoner in this home, where death and decay had collected like a fog.
Sometimes she grew so nervous that she had to sit in her room for hours until her hands stopped trembling. She wondered if her daughters ever thought about her.
She should moisturize more often, drink at least three liters of hot water with lemon each day, and wear silicon sheet masks to bed to hide the stigmata of a woman who was everything.
It is 10:40 a.m., I stare up at the ceiling, a collection of imprints. I am trying to count how many animals I can see sheeted above my head in all four corners.
Hot outside, cold inside. Hopeful on the outside, forlorn on the inside. Or was it the other way around?
One day the woman wakes up and she can’t say exactly what it is that’s changed, only that she knows it all has.
They thought me the oddity, though they were the ones depriving themselves of air. I watched them with the same curiosity that they watched me. How? And why?
People talk about the dead sometimes having unfinished business with the living, but my case was the opposite.
Since the new government promised land reform, the have-nots in your father’s village buckled over with joy, while the landed were bewildered
There was a time, Abu says, before your great-grandmother, when water was blue because it was a bruise, when it could feel our hands like the skin of a fruit.
That spring my wife covered the walls of our living room in newsprint.
Creativity, as it turns out, is especially hard when your brain is in survival mode.
She, like the others, could only slightly feel the edge of some thoughts, and some memories. It was better that way, they all agreed.
It is 10:40 a.m., I stare up at the ceiling, a collection of imprints. I am trying to count how many animals I can see sheeted above my head in all four corners.
Astrological insights from our inaugural twelve flash stories
Hot outside, cold inside. Hopeful on the outside, forlorn on the inside. Or was it the other way around?
Everybody thinks you become someone different when you’re someplace different, but it’s not true, you come back and you turn the same again.
One day the woman wakes up and she can’t say exactly what it is that’s changed, only that she knows it all has.
The white Liang mansion was melting viscously into the white mist, leaving only the greenish gleam of the lamplight shining through square after square of the green windowpanes, like ice cubes in peppermint schnapps.
They thought me the oddity, though they were the ones depriving themselves of air. I watched them with the same curiosity that they watched me. How? And why?
These days I’ve grown tired of my heart, how much feeling it has required, and would much prefer to laugh.
People talk about the dead sometimes having unfinished business with the living, but my case was the opposite.
In the shelter of our happiness, his shell shone brighter and brighter until one day, it split open and crumbled into dust to reveal a baby, golden skinned and blinking up at me.
Since the new government promised land reform, the have-nots in your father’s village buckled over with joy, while the landed were bewildered
She was a prisoner in this home, where death and decay had collected like a fog.
There was a time, Abu says, before your great-grandmother, when water was blue because it was a bruise, when it could feel our hands like the skin of a fruit.
Sometimes she grew so nervous that she had to sit in her room for hours until her hands stopped trembling. She wondered if her daughters ever thought about her.
That spring my wife covered the walls of our living room in newsprint.
She should moisturize more often, drink at least three liters of hot water with lemon each day, and wear silicon sheet masks to bed to hide the stigmata of a woman who was everything.
Creativity, as it turns out, is especially hard when your brain is in survival mode.