Sunday Stories: “OK, Now”

OK, Now
by Emi Benn

A chorus of me too’s greeted her as she opened the app. Mimi scrolled, reading through the harrowing accounts of people she knew, people she knew vaguely, and people she didn’t really know at all but felt like she did. She had to pause before she included herself among them—had she ever been sexually harassed or assaulted? Of course not, she thought before remembering a voice teacher who’d asked her at fifteen what turned her on and a man on the subway who’d grabbed her butt.

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Sunday Stories: “Exodus”

Exodus
by Sean Gill

Originally published in:

Yarver, Kimberly, ed.  An Oral History of the Borough War.  Incognito Publishing, New York, 2058.  Used by permission.

 

Born in Uniontown, Pennsylvania in 1973, Victor Walker drove a bus for New York City’s Metropolitan Transit Authority from 2017 to 2032. In August 2024, at the close of the Borough War, he and dozens of other drivers were conscripted for a specialized task: the ferrying of former prisoners and other refugees from the city to secret locations in New Jersey. We met with him in March 2054 at Scorchy’s, a neighborhood bar in Mariners Harbor, Staten Island. At the age of 81, he remains in the workforce, employed as a barback at Scorchy’s. Today is his day off and he leisurely enjoys a drink: scotch and Bailey’s, warmed in the bar microwave for thirty seconds. Though his hair is a dusty white, he could easily be mistaken for a man in his 50s.

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Sunday Stories: “The Old Beast”

The Old Beast
by MH Rowe

Something died under the porch most winters. This time it was on the crooked side near the stairs, where the leak from the roof had softened the floorboards. The wood groaned like a ship at sea. It gave off a rotten smell. The scent made Lina think of the old beast, and she wondered if he still lived out there in the lonely places.

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Sunday Stories: “Winter in Arcadia”

Winter in Arcadia
by Katy Finnegan

The bare trees split the cold, grey January sky like a broken pane of glass. I was walking down Feather’s Hill when I saw the mist drifting in the valley below, slow moving and eerie. Strange, I thought, furrowing my brow beneath my knitted woollen hat as I took in the view. It wasn’t until Dara, the wolfhound, began sniffing the air that I realized it wasn’t mist I was seeing – it was smoke.

Then, I began to run.

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Sunday Stories: “The Subtle Art of Caring for a Stray”

The Subtle Art of Caring for a Stray
by K. Joffré

 

Fall 2005

Somewhere along my life I had to become a good actor–not a Meryl Streep–but good enough to scurry off with small lies every so often. There were a few big lies, mostly about my sexuality, but most were small lies; like where I was, what I was doing, who was I doing it with, so forth and so on. What people never tell you about lying is that it creates a compulsion which blossoms into a habit. If you always lie then you are compelled to continue to lie even when it isn’t necessary. This was probably why I had never confessed to Bobby Lee that I had been to his ex Jason’s apartment earlier that year for a night of hot sex that turned into an awkward early morning good-bye. I had also neglected to tell Bobby that I did not like Jason because Jason had also lied to me when we first met, leading me to believe he liked me when he was just using me for a place to stay. Bobby assumed that I had never been to Jason’s place, and so introduced our destination as somewhere deep in Brooklyn where he used to live with Jason.

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Sunday Stories: “The Romantics”

The Romantics
by E. Y. Smith

Every morning, despite the fact they could have just as easily called each other by cellphone, they called each other through tin cans attached by a thin wire that ran between their windows, and they talked for hours. Most mornings they seemed to even run late to work, but they didn’t seem to mind—laughing together after they kissed each other hello and ducked into one or the other’s car, then swiftly swerving into the street.

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Sunday Stories: “How We Lived on Main Street”

How We Lived on Main Street
by Christian TeBordo

Of course, none of us actually lived on Main Street. Main Street was for commerce. Main Street was for you. For us, Main Street was an opportunity, the opportunity, mostly, to serve you. And what a delight it now seems, not to have served you — none of us ever found ourselves missing that aspect of it — but the things we were privileged to serve.

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Sunday Stories: “Like Sisters”

Like Sisters
by Jeff Schroeck

Nancy and Renee and I were like sisters growing up. We’d roam unsupervised around town as kids, later trading that for more dangerous activities, like drinking at night in the woods behind the school or sitting on the billboard next to the highway, throwing rocks at cars. One time we got so drunk we dragged our friend Bridget face down from the woods all the way home and left her on the doorstep. When we told her about it the next day she thought it was as funny as we did. None of us wanted anything other than to feel like it was summer all the time.

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