Gas station glow past 3AM, the glassed look of a man who’s been sitting for too long, hot dogs slumbering behind a screen, their skins plump and pink.

By Annesha Mitha
Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Fiction

Her teeth and nails turned to grit, and she became part of the earth itself.

Fiction

Since the new government promised land reform, the have-nots in your father’s village buckled over with joy, while the landed were bewildered

Fiction

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.

Fiction

That spring my wife covered the walls of our living room in newsprint.

Essays

Creativity, as it turns out, is especially hard when your brain is in survival mode.

Essays

You spoke through the impossible and you teach us once more how a story, through a faithful, stubborn kind of continuation, can be like a collective strength.

Fiction

He collected the past in amber, often describing war memorials as beautiful. He called himself a gardener.

Fiction

Five American Fables

Fiction

“Big rain, isn’t it?”

Fiction

The hagwon director was the most successful woman we knew at the time… Her short hair was perfectly coiffed, her full lips painted red like a Western woman’s.

Fiction

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.

Fiction

She was a prisoner in this home, where death and decay had collected like a fog.

Fiction

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.

Fiction

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.

Fiction

And though I knew it was someone’s son, I unburied the rooster in the dark and kick-started a fire and roasted it on a spit, my fingers lamping with grease.

Fiction

The sunflowers fall, right along with their mason jar, in the middle of the night. Their heads too gloriously full of early July. How they seem to know everything, except the virus.

Fiction

“The girl didn’t want a new life; she wanted her old comfortable life, though it was as worn out as her pajamas.”

Fiction

“What’s the most serious problem? Home lor! Drugs lor! Everyday besides sleeping and playing games you do what? Yes, kill people lor! So the government commercialized the plan lor, scientists spent ten years to research how to store up sleep, so these Juveniles can be useful lor.”

Fiction

You couldn’t claim that you were lost. The footsteps of your comrades dragged you sharply back into the present, no wavering possible.

Fiction

“The ecology and economy of the region is under threat. This Transpacific Literary Project folio, Monsoon Notebook is for these essential, vanishing, and unruly waters.”

Fiction

Her teeth and nails turned to grit, and she became part of the earth itself.

Fiction

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.

Fiction

Since the new government promised land reform, the have-nots in your father’s village buckled over with joy, while the landed were bewildered

Fiction

She was a prisoner in this home, where death and decay had collected like a fog.

Fiction

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.

Fiction

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.

Fiction

That spring my wife covered the walls of our living room in newsprint.

Fiction

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.

Essays

Creativity, as it turns out, is especially hard when your brain is in survival mode.

Fiction

And though I knew it was someone’s son, I unburied the rooster in the dark and kick-started a fire and roasted it on a spit, my fingers lamping with grease.

Essays

You spoke through the impossible and you teach us once more how a story, through a faithful, stubborn kind of continuation, can be like a collective strength.

Fiction

The sunflowers fall, right along with their mason jar, in the middle of the night. Their heads too gloriously full of early July. How they seem to know everything, except the virus.

Fiction

He collected the past in amber, often describing war memorials as beautiful. He called himself a gardener.

Fiction

“The girl didn’t want a new life; she wanted her old comfortable life, though it was as worn out as her pajamas.”

Fiction

Five American Fables

Fiction

“What’s the most serious problem? Home lor! Drugs lor! Everyday besides sleeping and playing games you do what? Yes, kill people lor! So the government commercialized the plan lor, scientists spent ten years to research how to store up sleep, so these Juveniles can be useful lor.”

Fiction

“Big rain, isn’t it?”

Fiction

You couldn’t claim that you were lost. The footsteps of your comrades dragged you sharply back into the present, no wavering possible.

Fiction

The hagwon director was the most successful woman we knew at the time… Her short hair was perfectly coiffed, her full lips painted red like a Western woman’s.

Fiction

“The ecology and economy of the region is under threat. This Transpacific Literary Project folio, Monsoon Notebook is for these essential, vanishing, and unruly waters.”