A pressing, distressing narrative this is not. It’s 1570 Spain, and I’m a missionary building a church in the middle of the forest. It’s 1960 southern United States and I’m a policeman shining the beam on a tree, and its leaves, as the sky shines bright with stars and people sing in the distance,…
Fiction / Literature / Short Story / Writing
You didn’t clean up before you got in the car and drove away. But I did. I stayed. You didn’t call when you got to the bar, and didn’t save me a seat, even though I asked if you could. I called, and you didn’t pick up. I sat in the kitchen and ate…
Fiction / Literature / Short Story / Writing
Jacob is a hat-builder. He makes hats for people with heads of all sizes. Some heads are round, others pointed, and now and then a head presents itself that is misshapen in some notable way, by cleft or protrusion – in any case, some condition that requires a mastery of hat-building. Jacob builds…
Fiction / Literature / Short Story / Writing
Ayyad El-Habri is a man who is best described as thoughtful, and optimally called by his last name. “El-Habri!” people have been known to cry across the street, and in a world full of people with the same last name, somehow that has always nevertheless meant this El-Habri: six feet tall and grey-haired from…
There are lots of them. When you meet one, here are some things you should say to them or do with them. Full disclosure – I’m not American. I’m not a voter in the election. But there’s this large Republican convention starting tomorrow and I was listening to the radio (a mistake, I know), and…
It’s the hottest May on record in this city. ‘May 5, 2015 Dear Mr. Martin, Hi Billy! Welcome to our building. Happy to have you here, and no problem about helping you move in. You certainly have a lot of stuff! Attached you’ll find a pack of tenant guidelines. If you have any questions,…
I am black. Oh rota, the blank person who walks beside me, what are you saying? That you want candy? We walk into a store, and it’s full of black people, how black they are and how perfect, but beside me is a blank person and he (or she) is nothing at all. Just…
You won’t believe me, but I’m not real. Not a real human being. I’m a robot. An automaton. Trent Lewin is an anagram (try it, and you will see), and that name was always a hint that something was different about who I am – that in fact, I am no one. I never was.…
Jamie is a midget – not really a midget, but close. This hasn’t hampered her life in the slightest, but she’s always aware of where she stands relative to everything around her: she’s constantly in a state of comparative analysis, assessing objects as they relate to her stature. Some are three-times-Jamie; others are half-Jamie…
This is pretty neat, a short-list for an international writing competition: http://www.commonwealthwriters.org/2016-commonwealth-short-story-prize-shortlist/ 4000 entries from 47 countries, and 26 stories on the shortlist (including mine). Kind of blown away, to be honest.
Anne wasn’t hit by a bus. She was standing still, staring at a painting she didn’t give a shit about, when her eyes glazed and she dropped her purse. It took Don five minutes to realize that something was wrong, to remember that Anne didn’t care about paintings or museums. Anne only really cared…
It was a strange light coming from the closet. All she could do was pull back the covers and slip out of bed. Marla stepped on a square thing. Her books lay strewn on the floor. She kicked them aside, and for a moment thought herself very brave. She reached the closet…
