Stories

Nonfiction

We take our solace, in a time of malaise and mourning, in the close-at-hand.

Nonfiction

Insomnia! There is a sickly romance to the affliction—initially.

Story of the Week

Americans have always a kind of tenderness for cheat.

Nonfiction

I was convinced she’d be back in the morning, like the sun.

Story of the Week

I felt awful about imposing on him, but I was desperate to see the Derby.

Nonfiction

Any white man without a servant was presumed to be in need of help.

Nonfiction

Why do girls want to cheerlead? Don’t they know it objectifies women?

Nonfiction

I understood that life could end without warning, even young lives.

Story of the Week

I could not tell what visions were vanishing in the dying slave.

Story of the Week

His hands were the last to go under, pressed together into a little steeple.

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Nonfiction

I asked for water, and he shot me a look of henpecked resentment.

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Story of the Week

I had fantasies of Papa telling my son the stories he never told me.

Love Story Contest

A high roller gave her money to stay in his room for the weekend.

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Nonfiction

They lived on the street, their mom a prostitute and heroin addict.

Nonfiction

I care only about the little body wiggling in that plastic bassinet.

Nonfiction

Atomic bomb. How could those two words be said together?

N30B Winners

Paharganj reels with beggars. Old women, boys, breast-feeding girls.

Story of the Week

In medical school they forgot to tell me about caring and feeling.

Nonfiction

Once she said, “Dying is nothing, but . . . the separation!”

Story of the Week

For Henry Moore there is not only the best day but the worst.

Story of the Week

I don’t know who he wants to be, and it’s not because I haven’t asked.

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N30B Winners

Fishing with Dad guaranteed two days of just us and made me special.

Story of the Week

The sounds of Africa exploded around the white men and women.

Nonfiction

“This is no vacation,” I told friends and reluctant donors.

Winter Contest Winners

I made him love me. To feel abandonment—again.

Nonfiction

The wine was administered to Theo’s lips, and then the rest of us.

Nonfiction

Only one constant existed: I wrote. Writing was my center of gravity.