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    To Remain
    The Sun InterviewBy Judith HertogTo RemainRaja Shehadeh on Living through Destruction in Palestine

    I have been thinking that people all over the world these days are feeling a sense of despair because, like me, they are seeing the destruction of the world as they knew it. But it has occurred to me that the real destruction of my world happened in 1948, when the Palestinians lost Palestine.

    Distractions
    Readers WriteBy Our ReadersDistractions

    Reading at work, listening to music during labor, swatting gnats while meditating

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Browse Sections

Fiction

    Fiction

    The Color Of Their Souls

    There was a tear in our screen door and I would peek through it at the little houses across the street. The house across from ours was purple. There were many wild-colored houses on our block, like a row of cheap drinks; their great snarls of TV antennas were the swizzle sticks.

    By Poe BallantineAugust 1995
    Fiction

    The Wasp Eater

    The wasps looked the same dead as alive: you could be fooled by their sci-fi armor into treating them more warily than they deserved. That was why, when you slipped one of them into your mouth and the wings and legs dissolved and you silently rolled the hard skeleton over your tongue, you were swallowing fear itself.

    By William LychackAugust 1995
    Fiction

    The Break

    I don’t sleep. My head’s a bunch of clacking pool balls, worrying around about things. That’s why I hear Mrs. Patterson tiptoe into my room. I can see from the hall light it’s her: she’s wearing her hospital gown, her red high heels, red kid gloves, and matching purse.

    By Mary Jane RyalsAugust 1995
    Fiction

    I Wish I Had The Energy To Clean My Stove

    Since I’ve never had an orgasm, I don’t know exactly how to fake one, but he seems satisfied with my little act. You’re the greatest, he always says afterward. You are, too, I say. It must have been in bed with Les that I learned to be such a liar.

    By Kathleen SmithJuly 1995
    Fiction

    Orson And Me

    And now I know that He wants me to try to write a book again and that this time I’ll succeed.

    By William PenrodJuly 1995
    Fiction

    Annie’s Hair

    As she sat up, Annie kicked at a pile of hair near her feet. The hair screamed and begged for mercy. She told it to shut up or the broom was going to get it. After that the hair was quiet.

    By Diana Maria CastroJune 1995
    Fiction

    Hibernating

    It was bear shit, suddenly familiar and evocative. A pile lay steaming on the doorstep of a boarded-up hotel. I felt hot iron in my legs and pretended to fumble for something in my pocket as I crouched in the doorway and inhaled deeply.

    By Janine Claire BlaelochJune 1995
    Fiction

    Oleander

    Marie loved the sun so much, she got skin cancers from it, which she perversely believed only the sun would help. Doctors periodically scraped or burned the cancerous cells off her face and arms, leaving her to hole up in her trailer for weeks listening to the radio until they healed.

    By Mary Torre KellyMay 1995
    Fiction

    Hats And Veils

    Vadim felt the wind-borne particles of water bursting in the hazy sunlight. He breathed the firs’ musty aroma and remembered Bosnia’s mountain pines above his red-tiled house, and the day Serb soldiers had firebombed the forest and his house had burned in high-explosive flames.

    By Josip NovakovichMay 1995
    Fiction

    Selected Stories

    I have discovered that by using a very long straw, I can drink soda from my neighbor’s apartment.

    By SparrowMay 1995
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