We believe students and readers everywhere deserve a great and free modern library, inside of which they can get deliriously, entertainingly, profoundly lost. And found.
Stories
Classics
Gurov reflected, “it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make her acquaintance.”
Fiction
“We have heard that this blackened smear is art. We do not see it.”
Poetry
My mother’s city and I were both named after an assassinated king.
Story of the Week
The interrogator was both man and deity, prophet and god.
Story of the Week
We backed up and I kept ripping it at his face, trying to knock his teeth out.
Classics, Story of the Week
These are notes that please the great heart of man.
Story of the Week
The blood had been soaked up in sawdust—“this is hell.”
Story of the Week
Living as the last artist in Manhattan: it’s the ultimate test of commitment.
Story of the Week
Even if he lost her he would never disparage her, never not love her.
Story of the Week
Now, with new orders to carry out, he’d been restored to factory settings.
Story of the Week
Clark and Robertson got a reset, and Tuyen would get a baby. But Mikey?
Story of the Week
L’chaim. To lives both bygone and ongoing, and to the truths I choose to believe.
Story of the Week
I think you might have turned into a novelist, if we’d been allowed to go on.
Poetry
Thus is the way of leaves the secret ones that no one sees, not even me
Nonfiction
He was frightened, a creature no more or less unbound by time than I am.
Story of the Week
Americans didn’t invent courage, but we are no strangers to it.
Poetry
We wanna play Nintendo till it’s dark out and can’t, the grid’s down.
Classics
The true Lesson of the Master is, simply, to husband one’s own stupidity.
Classics
Kids interfere with perfection. Wives interfere. Marriage interferes.
Fiction
The letter both pleased and disturbed her. Why did he get in touch?
Poetry
They fed her honey, cream, bits of lime, that meaty pulp ripped from rind.
Story of the Week
The house of our relationship is a fort. Blanket fort. Tree fort.
Story of the Week
It was up airly and down late with him, and the loom never standin’ still.
Story of the Week
He cannot imagine the shape his life would take without her.
Poem of the Week
We entertain them. We kiss and spit and strike. We’re always changing.
Poetry
If I also could be lifted into the sky,
I’d wish to be blown apart.
Fiction
There in front of the house was his son’s ratty old Thunderbird.
