Prose
The Subletter
Gus Moody Three years into what they thought was a well-deserved early retirement, Mr. and Mrs. Jarrus found that they had been a bit too optimistic about how long their savings would last. It was the house’s fault, really. It was a grand turn of the century home with an address that matched… Read More The Subletter
Night Riders
Alivia Wynn Eliza lived on the edge of Elisburg Alabama, but Mama insisted that she never go into town alone. The glint in her eye and the stern hook in her pointed finger usually kept Eliza from asking why. The few times she did question her mother, Eliza was met with fire. … Read More Night Riders
The Gilded One
Sirin Jitklongsub I suppose it is going to rain all afternoon. Normally on a day like this (gray days, Mary calls them), I’d grab an umbrella, Mary’d button the children’s raincoats, and we’d go to the park. Timmy would jump in the puddles, thoroughly soaking and upsetting Lois, who would cry because her delicate blonde… Read More The Gilded One
Year Gone By
Jiakai Chang May began warmly in Riverside. Since mid-April, after a spell of cold, rainy days, the region had slowly been heating up, reaching a peak around the turn of the month. This was a boon for the Fujimotos’ strawberry crop. The market price was up to $1.25 a tray, and the fields produced more… Read More Year Gone By
Capturing the Human “Being”
Lauren Joyce I used to understand “being” as an inherent, singular verb with odd conjugations; to me, “am,” “is,” and “are” all signified the act of merely existing. Yet, the time I spent intensively studying the “self” in recent months (through the Kaplan Humanities Scholars Program) and unforgettable encounters with the work of Evar Hussayni… Read More Capturing the Human “Being”
Once Removed
Elizabeth Vogt That morning, I could smell my mother before I could see her. I would have recognized her perfume anywhere, the heady scent of jasmine and coriander. She hadn’t been a particularly polished woman, but she’d never gone anywhere, not even the gas station, without several spritzes of the stuff. The little black bottle… Read More Once Removed
Supermarkets
April Li Sometimes I am convinced that my mother hates me. Like now, standing on the sidewalk, tension collecting in the space between us like the Beijing heat, muggy and oppressive. She stares forward, glass dish of congee clutched in her hands. It was hot when she pulled it out of the pressure cooker earlier,… Read More Supermarkets
The Things We Leave Behind
Cindy Chen Chinese New Year is a novelty at first: when you’re a kid, and you see the lion dancing and hear the drum beats, you feel a sense of wonder for your culture in ways that hadn’t been prominent before living in America—not even living in a city that is primarily Asian. There is… Read More The Things We Leave Behind
City Called El Paso
Blair Donohue This is how you come into the world: It is September and I am newly a midwife and you are newly born. You slip into my hands as still and silent as a deer and your mother asks me if you are alright. I don’t know what to tell her. You’re not moving.… Read More City Called El Paso
