Issue 23 Fiction
August 8, 1974
by Katherine Hubbard
the television was on all the time. Hearings and more hearings. Her father showed Kit how the Times had reprinted the transcripts from the tapes, the things the President had said, how certain words, words Daddy wouldn’t say, were blacked out. She had to look up the one word her father would use: redacted. It was funny; it felt a little like a swear word and Kit loved it, went around the house misusing it because it felt so ticklish on her tongue and the roof of her mouth: redacted.
by Casey Pycior
as designed, in the last twenty-seven games we hadn’t come within twenty points of a win. Do you have any idea what it’s like to show up and know absolutely—every game—that you are going to not just lose, but be embarrassed? That if you give 100 percent you’re not doing your job?
Have You Seen Me?
by Sandy Yang
erica wanted to do something nice for Mark, something that would help with the search, and since his truck was hauled to the shop this morning, she offered to drive. She told him that he could sit in the passenger seat for a change, and she would drive slowly to give him a better vantage point when he looked out the window. She also hoped that they would get a chance to talk, but each time she stopped at a light and glanced over at Mark, he twisted his body so far to the right that she could only see his face reflected in the glass. She thought that he would at least accidentally look her way, but it hadn’t happened yet, not since Erica lost his chocolate brown Labrador at the dog park three days ago.
New Worlds: April - May 1989. Excerpted from This Wicked Patch of Dust.
by Sergio Troncoso
they had returned to Lilah’s apartment. After she served him a small shot glass of Grand Marnier, they kissed on the sofa (her roommate was out for the evening), and she locked her bedroom door. Yet he wondered whether the car alarm he heard in the distance was from his rental. Soon Ismael and Lilah were in bed together, and the world around them fell away into the darkness. Only then did his car cease to exist in his mind. After Ismael woke up and made hazelnut coffee for both of them, he slipped on his jogging shorts. He ran toward the Charles River and passed Pembroke Street and a few broken beer bottles on the sidewalk. Hallelujah! His Dodge Colt appeared untouched.