fiction that lingers long after the flash
flash
Kismet
Ma says the beginning of our bad luck was buying a house in a neighborhood owned by stars with no hands. At night, in replacement of wishing upon them, she warns us about the leading cause of death in the United States – half-swallowed ambitions, chewed twice before...
Plaque
The baby is gone for fifteen minutes. Maybe less. The new access control system does its job, the Code Amber careening loud and shivery through every intercom, and all in all, the affair is neat and abbreviated—a disappointment to the med school gunners looking...
Miss Piggy on the Dashboard
We meet at a fifteen-year-old’s birthday party. You’re attractive in an offhand way. Girls dressed as pop stars with weaponized fingernails giggle as you pass. You catch my eye and smile. We are two in an army of waiters careening under blossoming trees with silver...
Sometimes Grief is a Moonrise
They are standing on the woman’s porch. The woman and her friend. They stare at the road in front of them. Empty. And beyond the road, an apple orchard. And beyond that: sky. Night sky. Stars, and a hint of moonrise. The woman is smoking a cigarette. She doesn’t...
The Weight of Jade
First came the click of the front door lock, then the thud of his heavy American shoes dropping to the wooden floor. My silence and sleep were interrupted. I rubbed my eyes and checked the time. Garbage trucks were starting their rounds. 3 a.m.—fourth late night in a...
What Were You Thinking
You are running late to catch the bus to the train to the plane trying to get to your boyfriend who thinks you’re The One but wants to make sure you’ll start to exercise more first, eat less, and somehow you think getting lost is because you are fat and now...
Body Count
My father brought home strange things: a crumpled five-rupee note, a nose stud, a baby’s anklet. Things the dead no longer need, my mother muttered while grinding rice for idlis. She steadied the pestle, afraid it might slip and bruise her thigh. We lived near Canal...
What’s Next
On our street, the fathers who hunted had sons who hunted. Their rifles and shotguns, the working ones, were never visible, but each living room displayed a weapon from their father’s or grandfather’s past, some heirloom hung over the mantle like a flag that declared...
Last Roll of Film
The one-hour photo smelled of vinegar and metal, the scent clinging to the back of my throat like it might stay there forever. My hands sweated inside the sleeves of my windbreaker as I slid the yellow Kodak envelope across the counter. The clerk, a man with...
micro
Match Point
More helicopters are falling this year. Not the real ones; not yet. These are the papery maple seeds. They float down, spinning on a single feather. They coat the sidewalks, collect in planters, nest in gutters. In the evening, they glow, lit from behind, the sun red...
Borderland
Oasis Motel 3:06 a.m. Mandy picks shattered bits of windshield out of her arm. Glass fragments glisten red, stark pinpricks against the yellowed porcelain sink. She looks away from the marred counter. Plinks another shard into the basin. The motel room is dark....
Grief
He built a house out of wood in which to lose his grief. To fill the house, he stole crumbs from the lips of strangers as their tongues searched their mouths. He stole the sadness floating in the eyes of the bereaved. He stole the darkness inside their clasped hands....
Green to Gray
Let’s say dad didn’t beat you because you back-chatted and wore your skirt too short, and you didn’t sneak out to meet Peter, then peck like a bird at our bedroom window at midnight smelling of cask wine and boy. Imagine — you hadn’t woken up lamenting you’d ever been...
First, They Fall
Kathy Morris must have been half-bat, half-opossum because no human could hang upside down for so long and not feel funny about it after. She’d flip herself over the monkey bars and chase us back into school like it was no big deal she’d just hung there with her hair...
Companion Wanted
Seeking a companion. Need not be romantic; platonic is fine. Just someone to wake up to for that morning breath that feels stale with closed-mouth soft snores, and those eyes holding long, floating eyelashes that I want to touch but won’t. Just someone who will empty...
One Day in December, My Trapezius Decided to Write A Short Epic Poem
during a 50-minute massage. The grading, the emails, the sunken cold: my mid-back balled into a walnut. At Hand and Stone, a blind masseuse named Homer leads me to a room with prancing emerald lights: hospital sink, mirror from Marshall’s—a franchised underworld....
Cappuccino
Capuchin monkeys are named after the monks who are named after the drink or something like that, could be the other way around, so when Sam says that Olivia’s voice is like cappuccino we nod but we don’t really know what it means because none of us have tasted...
Everything Is Fine On Planet Jell-O
The brother, Paleo, and I are doing inventory when it begins raining. Acid. It’s Acid Rain. The one that strictly arrives on the first Saturday of every month, to burn away the soil nutrients and kill the grass that has grown since the last acid washing. It’s a very...
contest winners
Kismet
Ma says the beginning of our bad luck was buying a house in a neighborhood owned by stars with no hands. At night, in replacement of wishing upon them, she warns us about the leading cause of death in the United States – half-swallowed ambitions, chewed twice before...
Plaque
The baby is gone for fifteen minutes. Maybe less. The new access control system does its job, the Code Amber careening loud and shivery through every intercom, and all in all, the affair is neat and abbreviated—a disappointment to the med school gunners looking...
Miss Piggy on the Dashboard
We meet at a fifteen-year-old’s birthday party. You’re attractive in an offhand way. Girls dressed as pop stars with weaponized fingernails giggle as you pass. You catch my eye and smile. We are two in an army of waiters careening under blossoming trees with silver...
Sometimes Grief is a Moonrise
They are standing on the woman’s porch. The woman and her friend. They stare at the road in front of them. Empty. And beyond the road, an apple orchard. And beyond that: sky. Night sky. Stars, and a hint of moonrise. The woman is smoking a cigarette. She doesn’t...
The Weight of Jade
First came the click of the front door lock, then the thud of his heavy American shoes dropping to the wooden floor. My silence and sleep were interrupted. I rubbed my eyes and checked the time. Garbage trucks were starting their rounds. 3 a.m.—fourth late night in a...
What Were You Thinking
You are running late to catch the bus to the train to the plane trying to get to your boyfriend who thinks you’re The One but wants to make sure you’ll start to exercise more first, eat less, and somehow you think getting lost is because you are fat and now...
Body Count
My father brought home strange things: a crumpled five-rupee note, a nose stud, a baby’s anklet. Things the dead no longer need, my mother muttered while grinding rice for idlis. She steadied the pestle, afraid it might slip and bruise her thigh. We lived near Canal...
Sick Day
Ma keeps Nabh home again because he’s still fatigued, and she says he has such heavy bags under his eyes he could go for a month-long trip to India. No fever, though. He’s well enough to be bored. And … he’s going to miss the fire drill today. No big...
What the Bones Remember
She wore her bones like silk. Not with shame, but with memory. Each rib a prayer. Each vertebra a vow. They had once dressed her in red silk and called her divine. They used to carve her name into temple stone. Midwives and mourners and those who bled for too long...