Treasure HuntersBy Susan Daitch
So you’re the hotshot diver, he said, if you won’t take any money, let me buy you a hot dog.
Man on the Bus with a Spider on His BackBy J. M. Tyree
There's a man on the bus sitting directly in front of you. He has a small brown spider crawling across his red shirt, near his left shoulder blade.
Blue UnderworldBy John Benditt
Area 51 has been hidden from the American people. For a long time. For their own good.
Square WaveAn excerpt of the novel by Mark de Silva
It seared their eyes. Squinting, they watched the light dilate, divide in six. The rocket fell away, limp, useless, and dark as a new star grew against the storm.
AmerikankaBy Jeff Parker
Boundaries of Nations: What a joke American pool is. They play with miniature sticks on a tiny table with a bunch of tiny multicolored balls, a bunch of toy balls, just like between their American legs.
Shakespeare, New MexicoBy Valeria Luiselli, translated by Christina MacSweeney
Boundaries of Nations: With time, I learned to love and master my scenes.
The Men and Women Like HimAmber Sparks, from her forthcoming collection, The Unfinished World
A year ago he brought the pox blankets back to the natives after a well-meaning group of illegal tourists stole them away. On return he had a sort of quiet breakdown.
SouterrainBy Maggie Shipstead
He led her away, down one tunnel, then another. He took her through a passage where the bones were piled so high they had to wriggle over them on their bellies.
The Road to AlpulluBy Aysegul Savas
I would examine the black and white photographs of Alpullu’s golden age. In their shadows, I identified the vanished town.
TorenBy Kevin T.S. Tang
Then high school came, and my brother and I didn’t talk. I was some bitch-majesty in the schoolyard, and whoever said all tomboys are loved has never been a tomboy.
The Way You Look at MeBy Jean McGarry
The husband wrote a letter every single day, sometimes more often. Sometimes, she didn’t open them, or deliberately misread them.
The Things They CarriedBy Christos Ikonomou, translated from the Greek by Karen Emmerich
They needed a way to keep the fire going until morning—that was another thing they had on their minds.
ThugsBy Anthony Tognazzini
In the deserted thoroughfares I heard the rumble of thug music, heavy with bass and shot through with electric guitar.
LifesaversBy Amanda Nazario
When I met G I knew he’d figure in my life heavily, but I had no idea if our association would be sad or happy, ultimately—and I still don’t know which it will be, ultimately.
Water ButterflyBy Sylwia Siedlecka, translated from the Polish by Jennifer Croft
No one knows when exactly he became the thing I fed upon, the thing whose body works for my body, day and night.
A Bunch of SavagesBy Sofi Stambo, 2015 Dzanc Books / Disquiet International Literary Program Award winner, selected by Aimee Bender
I have a birthmark above my butt, which is undeniable proof of gypsiness.
Hell KettleBy Mary O’Donoghue
Boundaries of Nature: Water is always at work. We don’t even know that it’s eating the very ground from under us.
The Last of His KindBy Nick White
Boundaries of Nature: In books, he has read about boys and animals, how they form a connection, and then the animal dies. And the boy learns something about the harshness of the world.
QuicksandAn excerpt from the novel by Steve Toltz
It’s an open secret that every officer, regardless of rank, is allowed to step in and ask for special consideration for one fuck-up.
The Boy from PetrópolisBy Nuala O’Connor
I look at his face; the green eyes, the wet mouth. I still feel the dream-softness of his hair under my hands; I feel like a grandmother, like a mother, like a lover.
TrainBy Rebecca Entel
Now that she had shared a story, the Mother said, he must tell her one of his own. Something that had happened to him. He could tell that she meant something terrible.
The VaseBy Azareen Van der Vliet Oloomi
I didn’t tell my husband, but there was a part of me that could have lived like that: eating cockroaches in the dirt, catching flies.
The Sum of Small ActsBy Gabriel Urza
They agreed to unspoken rules. Broken windows were OK. Broken bones were fair game. Graffiti was acceptable, as were rubber bullets and tear gas.
The Boy JihadiBy Youssef Rakha
For a year or more before the six months that we spent preoccupied with our strange visitor, counterterrorism was our spiritual life.
Let Me Explain YouAn excerpt from the novel by Annie Liontas
Stavros Stavros was fat and full at the end of the night. All he needed now was to deflower a virgin.
The AmericanistBy Andrew Malan Milward
“I’m celebrating my country! Stop hating my freedom, you terrorist.”
InscapeBy Yaa Gyasi
Boundaries of Taste: And as I parted my lips and then, later, my legs, watching the last clouds of smoke slip upward, I kept hearing my mother’s voice say, “Jesus is a fire.”
Canticle for Gigi SauvageauBy Jennifer Sears
Boundaries of Taste: Where we saw shape, line, and shadow—a nude—he saw a naked overweight woman.
Our Lady of ZeitounBy Iman Saleh
Firas rested his head on the back of the sofa, lost in the smoke. He wondered what that meant: a world where you can run wild.
Pretty IsBy Maggie Mitchell, excerpted from her debut novel
Only then can you forgive a girl for being pretty: if she’s an idiot or a liar.