Category Archives: Fiction

The Darling Queen

by Ira Sukrungruang

 

The Brightest Room in the World

Nitaya wonders what her life would be like without her younger brother Martin. What if she was not an orphan, not a refugee, but the natural born child of Roger and Irene Williamson of Glen Ellyn, Illinois? Nitaya imagines herself with pale white skin and freckles. She imagines herself with red hair that undulates down her back, like her mother, instead of her short stray strands that limps over her shoulders. She imagines she can speak rapid fire English and read thick books like her father, who calls her his darling queen. Continue reading

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The Takeover

by Shane Pillay

A beautiful baby girl was delivered on a cold late December night. My wife and I were ecstatic. Now there were three. Creation is a wondrous thing.

“The future is ours to command,” said my wife. She was a gorgeous poet.

Several days later in January, I started my new job at EasyBaby. Strange coincidence – it was a startup that made easy-to-fit-and-wear baby clothes. As any parent would know, that’s an idea worth a billion hours. Babies move, babies struggle, babies cry – fitting on a bodysuit or jacket takes more than a fair share of effort. Easy-to-fit-and-wear baby clothes make dressing fun.

“So how is the new job?” asked my wife.
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Vieques

by Devan Del Conte

The ferry chugged away from the coast of San Juan, and the captain’s voice came over the PA system: they would arrive in forty-five minutes. Leslie and Alec were on their way to the island of Vieques.

Alec scooted back on the slick plastic chair, trying to ease the ache in his lower back. He edged away from Leslie and shrugged his shoulder. The ferry smelled faintly of gas. The chairs were bolted in a series of long blue rows that reminded Alec of his middle school cafeteria. Leslie clutched his arm, moaning complaints about her nausea. This was the moment Alec knew for sure: he did not love her. Continue reading

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Sabino Canyon

by Scott Bradley Smith

After the rain, the desert smelled of sage and creosote. Mike Brazos pawed the scree, hauled himself onto a ledge. Hands on knees, he gasped and wheezed in the breaking mist. He knew he’d been capricious—a rattler could have gotten him anytime he reached overhead. At the very least, he could have ended up with a handful of cholla spines. But he had arrived at this promontory where, for one last time, he could survey Sabino Canyon as it curved like a fat leg up and into the Santa Catalina range. Continue reading

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Winter Woods

by Deirdre Roche

Our car was the size of a toaster, bought out of environmental convictions and a lack of funds. The hill to the cabin was steep and muddied from snow that fell the night before.

“We could push,” Paul said.

I put the car in neutral. Together we mounted the first steep climb. We panted and held our knees. Our breath came out in white puffs.

“How are we gonna get back down?”

“I think it will be easier in the other direction,” he said. He might have smiled but his face was covered almost completely by his scarf. Continue reading

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