Dear dome of impenetrable darkness— It is only fair I give you some glimpse of my own birth: that was the year the Andean volcanoes sent England magnificent weather: tides blasting against the shore, light dashed across the sky, the slant of rain coming down like a puppet’s strings. Mid-August, a comet smeared the inky …
Listen, most sinkholes occur on Thursdays. If you don’t believe that, go Google it and see for yourself. If that doesn’t suit, come and take a look, this Thursday afternoon, at my neighbor’s yard, so perfectly landscaped until an hour ago. Now you can stand half way up Wanda Brooker’s rock garden bank and look down …
When I was a child, there was a monster under my bed. It was there when I was born, and when I was old enough to move from my mom’s bedroom to my own it moved in with me. I thought sometimes that together we took up too much room, but neither of us wanted …
In the throng for the tram she allows herself to be pushed back again and again and ends up getting on last. Most of the passengers stay near the door but Esther presses her way through the tightly-packed crowd. It is drizzling outside and a layer of droplets glistens on scarves, jackets, people’s hair. Esther …
I can’t escape my job. Everywhere I go I see ads for the company. On the subway, the sidewalks with our company logo engraved in concrete, the talking billboards which feature the intertwined bodies of flawless men and women in the downtown AdZones. I’m good at what I do. PlayMatez look and feel real: warm …
Jim Shepard’s was the first story I ever read in a literary magazine; it was “Climb Aboard the Mighty Flea,” in a 2002 issue of The Paris Review. I found it in college while wandering around in the library between classes. The story is about a group of lunatic German Messerschmitt 163 test pilots during WWII. It begins: I am Oberleutnant …
For me, the best way to spend a foggy October night is to indulge in a cheeky, horror film spoof, preferably one involving a sweet transvestite and a few catchy musical numbers. But, Netflix doesn’t stream Rocky Horror Picture Show, so I settled on a similarly, seemingly spoof-tacular horror one—The Return of the Killer Tomatoes. …
Paul scrambled down the riverbank’s long slope. He clutched his pack’s shoulder strap, assured by the rattle from beneath the canvas skin. Front Street’s lights faded, and each step brought a deeper darkness. The curfew sirens wailed—a single, stretching note not heard since the dam broke. The police with their orders. The National Guard stationed outside …
Last week in Part One of our interview with James Hannaham, we reflected on “High Five,” his work that was recently published in Story. He discussed his inspiration for the piece as well as his ideas of fame and his work following the tragedy of 9/11. This week, we conclude the interview, discussing Hannaham’s new, upcoming …
You killed Tatiana because you were jealous, didn’t you, Tiffany Savage. You seethed over her top-notch manicurist, her platinum rings and bracelets encrusted with lapis lazuli, her Moroccan leather gloves. You despised her ability to take it all for granted, casually cupping Fortunoff snifters at the ball of her thumb, letting Matilda smooth exotic cremes …