The woods spat Thomas into a clearing, and there they were: four men, one standing on the frozen lake, the others huddled around a smoking grill. Muffled reggaeton sounded from a portable radio buried halfway in the snow, antenna gamely perked.
Let me tell you about my precious son, Harry, who at one time occupied the body of a grown man and went to school where he was hailed as brilliant and ingenious by his peers.
I knew Israelia because she and I came from the same little hometown in Florida, a “podunk” place out in the middle of the state, where a truly beautiful and graceful girl like she was really means something to the whole community because they only come around maybe once in a generation.
The end of this story is when Angela’s best friend from high school, Madeline, is dragged by a bull shark beneath the sunrise-dappled waves and carried out to sea on a riptide.
Jesus, you would freak me out, all that pulpy ooze /
Leaking down your spear-driven ribs and, higher up,
Memory drove me to the edge of town /
and told me to get out. I refused:
Megan Harlan grew up on four continents, attended NYU’s Creative Writing Program, and now lives in Berkeley, California.
Issue 116: Fiction, Poetry, Nonfiction, Art
We were packed into the back of a crowded minibus somewhere on the outskirts of Addis Ababa, heading in the direction of Lake Kuriftu and the city of Debre Zeyit, which hugs its shoreline.
Issue 115: Fiction, Poetry, Nonfiction, Art
The Bird-in-Hand Farmer’s Market is busiest on Saturdays, Anna Lapp’s day to help her mother at Lapp’s Canned Goods. Their stall is in the far right corner, one of about forty surrounding the perimeter of the former warehouse.
Mrs. Dalloway said that she would walk to the office herself.
For she knew the way; and the secretary already had his work cut out for him, without having to escort her.