Fiction
Waiting by the Door
When Roma first walked to the door, its face looked grim and unyielding. Despite the peeling green paint, it stood guard over the old house…
Section
Fiction
Showing 529-552 of 565 pieces
Fiction
The Golden Egg
Fort Lauderdale, Florida 2002 She was always suspicious of the mysterious chest. He never let her see what was inside. She always suspected, it was…
Fiction
Burial
On a sun drenched Boston day my parents died in a car crash. A driver hopped up on crack and alcohol, was texting and driving,…
Fiction
First Date
The bar is dim and smells of fried food. Neon lights glow red, green and blue on the walls. Incandescent lamps burn dull yellow on…
Fiction
What Debussy Wrote for the Guitar
[soundcloud url=”https://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/43782479″ params=”auto_play=true&hide_related=false&visual=true” width=”100%” height=”450″ iframe=”true” /] Peyton recognized it the first time he heard Tito Salinas play the pieces. When the performance ended, he…
Fiction
Unfinished Swansong
Undraped feminine figure; that is, even if infatuated with brevity, David still insists on putting it in three other words: the female nude. Yes, the…
Fiction
Feigning Mirth
There is something about these big towns, they allure you, promise you something beautiful and make you chase these hopes and dreams feverishly and then,…
Fiction
Last Working Day
Murthy was a second division clerk in one of the government offices; knowing which one makes no difference because most of them are alike in…
Fiction
The Prosecutor’s Daughter
Salim Bouhadi, who used to be the police chief in Tiznit until he left in disgrace, hurried up the dirt road away from the bluffs….
Fiction
Papa
Oh Sinnerman, where you gonna run to? Sinnerman, where you gonna run to? Where you gonna run to? All along dem day Nina Simone –…
Fiction
Daisy’s Dilemma
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Guild of Contemporary Art cordially invites you to meet the artists Cheryl Dobrin Lena Herrschaft Daisy March Saturday, June 10 – 5 to…
Fiction
Trade-Off
“You have to stop being such a doormat,” I tell Samaya Di[1], wiping the display table we used for a quick afternoon snack and throwing…
Fiction
Impressions
Miles pressed the up button and brushed a fuzz from his suit coat. Executives and their associates flowed through the monotone, white-collar hum of business,…
Fiction
Memories
The memory was painful. Vivid, so perfectly forged that merely to unsheathe it meant pain. Little things could draw it out. The smell of wet lumber, freshly cut. Maybe a combination of words or a strange pattern of falling leaves. Try as one might, it was an experience that could not be contained. Like water falling, it would find a path through, no matter how hard you worked to stop it. This time it was a name.
Fiction
The Echo of Titus
It was New Year’s Day at eight in the morning when I looked out the window, hung over and blurry-eyed, to see my neighbour, Ivy…
Fiction
Mansfield Park
Homing “So, you like it?” Navin asked Puja as they got into the car. “Mansfield Park…” Puja tossed the name into the air. “It is…
Fiction
Uncle Bernie’s House
I stepped into the living room of my Uncle Bernie’s modest bungalow near Islington and Bloor. The banana yellow walls of the quaint room gave…
Fiction
Salt
“… I remembered from the movie that at the end Kiera Knightly keeps getting called ‘Mrs. Darcy’ by the dark brooding guy. So I just looked up that and I got something called Mr. Darcy’s Daughters but apparently he’s not supposed to have daughters yet either.” He led her to the Austen section, in Fiction, in the A’s. How difficult could it be, really? He had heard of that new film from several years ago. But who had two hours to sit in a dark theater, can’t hear anything, can’t talk to anyone, and besides, that is valuable reading time.
Fiction
Josephine’s Bath
“This yellow flower, is called Josephine’s Passion,” she told me, picking a blossom, “did you know she lived on the island, before she went to France, and met Napoleon? So, the flower is named after her, sweet, don’t you think?”
Fiction
The Firing
They all knew who she was. The only question was who was going to do it. No one wanted to do it. No one wanted to say it.
Fiction
The Dress
The sudden death of her youngest daughter so devastated Lily Polowski that she was unable to attend her funeral. Despite being heavily sedated, Lily still suffered from debilitating anguish over the loss of her beloved child.
Fiction
Hero
She had been looking at a copy of Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11, when she looked up and saw him a few feet away, staring at her intently. “You don’t want to get that,” he said, his voice calm but firm, like a parent addressing a child.
Fiction
The Philosopher
‘Hey God,’ he said quietly into the air, ‘I still got that empty feeling in my gut that I told you about this morning. Am I doing the right thing in going to Africa?’
Fiction
Death of a Thief
This was the village thief. What could one say about him? And how much? The best one could possibly say is “Inna Lillahi wa Inna Ilaihi Rajioon” and at least in his death, leave him alone. My mother must have had her thoughts running regardless and this is how her letter read.