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"He buys me
books, but begs me not to read them, because he fears they joggle
the mind.
I would like to learn. Could you tell me how to grow, or is it
unconveyed, like melody or witchcraft?" ---Emily Dickinson |
|
 Justine Dymond
Fiction Editor
for more fiction, check
the archives
|
other fiction
here
Birth Day
by Emily Gray
First thing, always: her hands went to find her belly. Kate
felt the swollen bump that was now part of her body, relieved
it was still there. Only a few more weeks of BEFORE,
she thought, and then: why am I awake? Oscar wasn't
next to her. She squinted in the darkness, eyes not working yet,
and lifted her head from the pillow. Then she heard him coming
down the hall from her office area, not from the bathroom just
off their bedroom.
"Hi," she said, curling around on her side, cradling
her pregnancy and itching an ankle. "What's going on?"
"Do you own The White Album?" Oscar stood in the
doorway, skinny and tall in grey droopy boxer briefs. His scraggled
curls were backlit by light from down the hall, making his head
look like it had a giant Afro, or a halo.
Kate wasn't sure what those words meant. Her brain tried to
right itself out of sleep.
"I don't--do I what?"
"I thought I had it but it's not in my CDs. I thought
maybe you did or that you borrowed mine. Is it in your office
somewhere? On the windowsill, is that where you put all the CDs?"
for the rest of the story, click here... |
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Street Fair
by Zoe Randall
"Why is a raven like a writing-desk?"
--Lewis Carroll
Rae stood in the doorway of the Radio Shack, arms folded against
her small body, her back turned to the panoply of electronic
devices. In the stratosphere, gray clouds hard-packed into wave
patterns, like damp sand beds. It wasn't summer, yet.
The 3" X 6" Psion personal digital assistant
was too small for Rick's unsupple hands, his fingers like winter
branches. "Come on, Rae. Try it," he said.
"Then can we go?" asked Rae.
The man behind the counter slid the Lilliputian machine in
Rae's direction, his eyes fixed to the wall of sixteen television
screens--sixteen virile bodies in red silk gym shorts and red
boxing gloves, bouncing on the balls of their feet...Cut to sixteen
contenders, avid as wild jackals, ready to pounce.
Rae typed.
"frayy"
She tried again, scrunching up her tiny fingers and carefully
pecking "gray."
for the rest of the story, click here... |
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Fiesta de los Linares
by Juana Quinones
The lanterns on the ground lit the faces of Los Linares
as they told jokes and stories. They sat on overturned crates
and old cane-bottom chairs. It was hot and shirtsleeves were
rolled back, some feet were bare. They had eaten already, and
the relaxation of their mouths slack from chewing the good food
allowed the stories to flow freely.
The three wooden structures on the lot were filled with people
and candles too, but most of the celebration was taking place
outside. The two rooms behind the storefront that faced the road
that went by were small and warm. During the rest of the year
Doña Tomasa and Teresa, her eldest daughter by her first
husband Dagoberto, slept in one and Amalia and Yuni slept in
the other. The two houses, no more than rooms really, were separated
by a patch of land and some grass and tonight had been taken
over by two hostile groups. One held the young crowd that wanted
to hear music other than that of the merengue trio that had been
hired for the night. The other held the strained, earnest voices
of a choir singing about the Son of God.
The younger cousins went in and out of the store to borrow
some sodas for the party, avoiding the entrances to both small
houses and trying not let the store proprietor notice their bottles
of malta. Tio Yuni had stopped deducting the amount from his
inventory as soon as he had sat down in front of Alberto, Danny,
and Chepo for a serious game of dominoes. On the ground around
the lanterns sat most of Saturninos' and Tomasas' children. The
six boys that had grown beards and mustaches in the same places
and four of the six girls that were thin and bony, covering their
smiles behind their hands as they listened to the picardia of
their brothers. Older grandchildren and many friends of the family
sat there too. Tato, who had been raised with the Linares boys,
was the best and loudest storyteller among them.
for the rest of the story, click
here... |
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