Only SonBy Patrick Dacey
“Some are really crazy,” the nurse said. “Others are just pretending.”
Long ForgottenBy Ariel Dorfman
He did not want her to think what might possibly be true: that he was going mad.
Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One BeforeBy Lillian Li
Tanya was not surprised to find no one hiding behind the hedges when she looked out her window, but she was disappointed.
In the Dim BelowBy Teresa Milbrodt
Our parents were too busy launching bombs over the river to notice missing fingers.
WildlifeBy Carter Sickels
Boundaries of Gender: He smiled, shyly, and then came toward Evan, and although in the red light the scars on Evan’s chest were not visible, Billy found them and kissed them.
SubcorticalBy Lee Conell
Boundaries of Gender: In the early seventies, I began sleeping with a married doctor who wanted to cure homosexuality.
Red BrickBy Danny Lorberbaum
Sam wants to see the Mississippi River at night. He has heard of Tom Sawyer and he looks for him in the faces of boys they pass.
My Dreams Would Seem So CloseBy Stephen O’Connor
“They’re back!” we hissed over our kitchen fences. “Someone’s got to stop them! Something must be done!”
Afternoon CowboysBy Jonathan Crowl
“Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum. Straight out of a Western movie.” He handed it over to Brady, who gripped the black rubber handle and ran a finger on the sleek, cold metal barrel.
StormbringerBy Jennifer Haigh
I met Tracy Pasco in the spring of 1980—in my Pennsylvania hometown, a time of relative optimism and ease.
GramophoneBy E. C. Osondu
First there was a little crackle as the pin scratched the record and then the voices would begin to sing or talk and would float into the surrounding inky darkness.
The InfernalExcerpt from the novel by Mark Doten
“I consider myself a casualty, one of the many casualties of the war on terror.” —Alberto Gonzales
Indigo Gets MarriedBy Jami Attenberg
“I thought you’d get along.” “Why did you think that?” I say. “You do so well with wounded men,” she says.
Cities I’ve Never Lived InBy Sara Majka
There were so many places he could have lived, but he lived in the shack so he could dream of his daughter.
AmituofoBy Vanessa Hua
Religion in America: If he were superstitious, he would have blamed the monks for cursing him.
Household GodsBy John Benditt
Religion in America: The house of the Memory God is filled with junk in piles. It started innocently enough, the way a blizzard starts: a flake here, a flake there.
Festival for the PigsBy Memtimin Hoshur, translated from the Uyghur by Darren Byler and Mutellip Enwer
Soon a rumor spread through the city that a pig was riding on another pig, circling through the streets, commanding the riot.
Butterflies in NovemberBy Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir, translated from the Icelandic by Brian FitzGibbon
You’ll barely notice him, he won’t nag or pester you, doesn’t even sing the way other kids do.
Gulf ReturnBy Deepak Unnikrishnan
Only for a short time, my mother promised when she left, but the shortness has grown longer, many years, almost twelve, and I am now grown.
Seven Micro-Stories on War (and Only One on Love)By Alex Epstein, translated from the Hebrew by Yardenne Greenspan
We reported on the two-way radio that the only nut alive asked to surrender.
BecomingBy Anna Noyes
She hugged me goodbye and left in her boat. I didn’t wait for the boat to grow smaller. I walked into the jungle. I wanted to be something real.
Stand StillBy Shelly Oria
We realize, of course, that one day the force may strike again, leaving one of us breathless at the side of the road.
Ghost HouseBy Ingrid Rojas Contreras
The stories of the kidnapped always begin the same way.
For What Purpose?By Karen E. Bender
American Empires: I wanted to stop something, everything. I applied for a job in airport security and they placed me here.
Wounding RadiusBy Constance Squires
American Empires: PFC Larry Pierson, a 21-year-old Afghanistan veteran from Vermilion, South Dakota, had made off with four M-16 A2s, six thirty-round magazines of ammo, and two M67 grenades.
MercyBy Melissa R. Sipin
I only question my father about these half-truths now, after all these years, because of the nightmares. Because I think about my mother. Because I imagine leaving my husband.
You, DisappearingBy Alexandra Kleeman
The apocalypse was quiet. It had a way about it, a certain charm. It could be called graceful. It was taking a long time.
Our FathersBy Dan Sheehan
I don’t remember the trial, of course, but I’m told there was a stink of hatred in the room that would undo your tie.
A Planet for RentBy Yoss, translated from the Spanish by David Frye
Science fiction from Cuba.
The Bully of OrderAn excerpt from the novel by Brian Hart
Bigness required boundaries but this water had none save the shore we stood upon and the end of my eyeball’s reach.