Year: 2014

The last flower of the season dances backward to the gate, where she does a cheer to impress her younger sister. Then, smiling tremendously and waving at imagined crowds on either side, she sashays across the pebbled cement and, with mock surprise, tumbles into the pool. Her little sister immediately jumps up and imitates the whole show, and their mother claps for them as they slide up out of the kicked­up water.

“You need to trust somebody sometime, Sarah,” they said, but I didn’t. I’ve never needed anything but children around me. I take care of them. It’s what I do.

Johanna DeBiase You barely noticed the man waving his arms on the side of the road until you passed him.

The summer had finally come to our Pacific Northwest and my eyes, so long accustomed to restrained skies and diffused light, winced at the uncorsetted sun. I was squinting at my wife

The salesman lifted the lid and directed Howard and Ann’s attention inside, to what he called the “accommodations.” There was a tiny blanket and tiny pillow inside, each bordered by satin and lace.

In 2011 the world of historical maritime research was thrown into turmoil when a diary, purportedly written by a passenger of the Mary Celeste, was found on the island of Papatoa.

. . . took out the Sacher torts and replaced them with chocolate cream cakes, but if you’re blind in one eye—and between you and I, most of this crowd is at least that blind—you’d order it anyway, thinking it was the genuine Viennese article.

Soren A. Gauger This week we’re very excited to present three fiction pieces from Canadian writer Soren A. Gauger. Read