[Her] Pre-existing Condition, Part ii by Lindsay Parnell Roach, foulest of creatures, who attacks with yellow teeth and an army of cousins big as shoes, you are lumps of coal that are mechanized and when I turn on the light you scuttle into the corners and there is this hiss upon the land. Yet I know you are only the common angel turned into, by way of enchantment, the ugliest. “Cockroach” by Anne Sexton On 12th and Market at midnight […]
Sunday Stories: “The Leonard Cohen Waltzing Society for Half-drunk Fuckwits”
The Leonard Cohen Waltzing Society for Half-drunk Fuckwits by Helen McClory Of course there was music playing the moment we all died. I mean, statistically, somewhere in the world millions of people must have been playing or listening to music, singing or humming under their breath, screaming out lyrics into a packed barn in a field in Denmark. It just has to be true. All those songs at once, discordant, terrible, rising and falling and knotting together and stuck with […]
Sunday Stories: “I’m a Knot”
I’m a Knot by Peter Koch I was outside. The requiem was over. I was taking the promenade west on foot with two people. It was dusk and everything was imbued with an amaranthine glow, which is contradictory in one sense. It was spring. The people I was with were talking more than I was. I was hardly speaking, in fact. This was the normal dynamic of our trio. The two people were female. They were smaller than I was. […]
Sunday Stories: “The Visitor”
The Visitor by Elliott Turner First, Cristhian’s husband would get mad. He’d clench his fists, arms at his side, his cheeks puffed, his face bright red. He’d close his eyes and his rigid body would shake. He would accuse her of betrayal. He’d remind her about all their talks. Their mutual decisions. He would list everything that could go wrong.
Sunday Stories: “Here Comes Your Ghost Again”
Here Comes Your Ghost Again by Tara Isabella Burton You meet him after dark. You do not remember what he looks like at all. You never will.
Sunday Stories: “Atheism”
Atheism by David Leo Rice Last year our town finally shuttered the Church. Momentum had been growing for a long time beforehand, maybe as long as I’d been living there, maybe as long as anyone had. The will to move on from ancient religion had been growing and growing in the mind of the people, but the fact that the Mayor actually did it was seen by almost everyone, both for and against, as a landmark event. There were no […]
Sunday Stories: “The Mannequin”
The Mannequin by Meiko Ko One free day Josephine was window shopping like many women did and a man came to her and said, “I know you’re Josephine.” Josephine was surprised and she looked at the man, who said, “Do you remember me? About a year ago we met on a train in Taiwan and had a pleasant chat.” He was smiling in a closed way, it was September and gradually the months receded from his face and Josephine remembered: […]
Sunday Stories: “Look”
Look by Cora Frazier He sees me standing on the street in front of a restaurant wearing my coat with the cape. It’s night, and the light of the awning is peach. “O.K.,” he thinks. “What’s the relevance of this?” He only sees me for a few seconds, not the full time I am waiting there. He sees a man pull up in a cab, but he does not see the man in profile, as I do, because the man […]