Presume a bathroom and a row of yellow and hotly round fluorescents above the mirror. Presume a young woman with her hip to the... more

You are a good-looking man. You know this because people tell you all the time, sometimes out of nowhere. You assume that people... more

After the divorce, my uncle Nicolai became an amateur taxidermist. His first attempts were on roadkill, then the... more

This is the story about how I lost my husband.

Jamie had been in the hospital getting blood work and... more

The Mayor, after several days of grieving, emerged from his hacienda at the hour that was once called lunch. He passed his guards, then slowly—laboriously—carried his voluminous frame through the streets, stopping at the square's one remaining café and ordering a well-cooked steak. The sun glared down from the cloudless sky and illuminated the Mayor, capturing him in full as he spread himself across a stool and held his knife and fork in a rehearsed display of indefatigable hope. There was still meat, he wanted the people to see. There was still a mayor. There was still a town, present and alive in that square.

Dark Sky is a fine new publisher whose books are strange... more

The epigraph to Alex Shakar’s Luminarium could be a request or a demand; “Lead me... more

I arrive at the party and there are about four people there—wait, there are ten more in the back room. Now there are six more at the... more

It is Sunday when the dogs come. The church bells ring and ring and my mother says to my sister like she does every week... more

I know a lot about the way a body grows in bed. I know a lot about sleep, which takes place inside the bed. I know about the dreams that... more

People think we’re in love, like goo-goo eyes and fingering, because we’re always together, Katie Jean and I. We’re always... more

The women were exceedingly beautiful that night. It did not move me to see them, even with their hair tossed back and asses... more

Kevin Wilson is the author of a story collection, Tunneling to the Center of the Earth(Ecco/Harper Perennial, 2009), and a novel, The Family Fang (Ecco, 2011). He lives and teaches in Sewanee, TN.Kevin Wilson is the author of a story collection, Tunneling to the Center of the Earth(Ecco/Harper Perennial, 2009), and a novel, The Family Fang (Ecco, 2011). He lives and teaches in Sewanee, TN.

At one a.m. a man loads mannequin parts into the trunk of an orange hatchback.

“I signed up for a thing online,” he... more

What Daddy

Our departure is very alarming to me, still. I still feel caution tape around my heart. But also... more

[The following text and pictures are taken from the personal website of my brother, Austin Hinderliter. It... more

The Vanishing Ball Player
Moses Cage (1960 - ?)

My hands, nets. My arms,... more

All Paige heard was her watch ticking. She peeled away the cement smell and damp that grew in the old basement where Buddy... more

I can be naked and drunk on the sailboat and only the cat will ever know. She's under a deck chair, pressing her eyes like everything... more

Her husband allows her all things but one — she cannot open the door in the tower.

He is a private man — coyly old fashioned.  His face... more

The holes in Dean's shoes let in the rain that streamed in rivers down the sleek asphalt of Ruby Lane. His feet... more

“Did you see what Suzy did when her father tossed her into the air?”

“No, I was looking at Jimmy.”

“She... more

I miss Lost. I want to go on Lost with you. Let’s be on Lost together. Let’s get on a plane that says: DESTINATION - CRASH. Let’s... more

How do you see yourself? the questioner at the other end of the table asks. Stumped, earlier questions more specific, handle on the context,... more

It is raining and Jacob is a boy.

Jacob is a boy and once climbed a tree and once fell from a tree and once, when he was up in a tree and... more