Statement of Record

CategoryFiction

That’s all

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By Figen Şakacı

From Keseklİ Tarla (Cloddy Field), a collection of short stories, 2020

Aysel was grumpy. She would look for defects wherever she went. Then, she would take the best seat with an air expecting deference. I would respectfully beseech her company; she would oblige me and scooch over. She didn’t like guests much. If someone laughed a lot, she...

Classified Ad for the Folded

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I have just one request. If you have ever been bent or folded or broken this way some time in the past, or if you stayed very straight, but heard that someone close to you experienced something like this, please contact me at the telephone number below. I bought a voicemail machine just in case I’m not at home when you call. And just in case there is a problem with the voicemail, I also added my...

A GOOD DAY FOR THE CROWS

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By Aydin Behnam

The young hunter had gathered up the folding mattress in the morning, but a few pillows and bolsters were still strewn about on the worn rug. He pulled one of the fluffy chicken-feather pillows close and leaned on it with his elbow. He...

THE ENCOUNTER

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By İrem Uzunhasanoğlu

I felt like a seed in a world where everything was destined to end and everyone was destined to die. I sprouted, I grew, I decayed, and I lay on the soil to die again, until I sprouted and grew and decayed and...

The Names on the Stairs

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By Burhan Sönmez

Birth. They called him “Tahir.” That was the name of his parents’ relative Uncle Tahir. To tell the truth, everyone in the village was related. After that day Uncle Tahir lived for another twenty years, until he collapsed to the ground during the harvest.

At the age of 3 days. They called him “Burhan.” At his...

Flattening the Curve

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By Aydin Behnam and John Casquarelli

You must believe me. I had never done anything like this before. Yes, it was his first time coming to my unit. It was my fault. I started it all. I read it in an old book I found in the attic and I mentioned it to him. The book said that it used to be an old custom. I’m so stupid! I should have known better. He had a way of...

Excerpts from Another Love Discourse

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Edie Meidav

To circumscribe

Here in the time of the great panic, people retreated to their bunkers, the people of the past come forward. Yesterday we found a path at an odd road, named as if after a bad blues song, like Coffinnail Cove: I’m going there to find my beloved. But this was true; at the mouth of the...

WINDOWS

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By Beverly Gologorsky

The comfort of the couch is an unexpected joy. The early dusk enters the room to brighten the lamplight. Nothing new in the way of decoration has been added, so most everything within sight is at least half my age. Objects long held, whether paintings, photos, worn chairs, even the plants along the windowsill, feel dearer at my age than they once did. What...

The Double Feature

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By William Cody Maher

To go out with me for fresh air or for some sun and to listen to the birds. . . to go out with me is to watch behind my back to be anticipating what is ahead to look for kids suddenly lurching out of the bushes out of my mind. . . to be out with me is not to be out with me and I don’t know how I can change that unless all the stop lights remain green and no one...

Irina’s Diary

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William Cody Maher

My name is Irina. My husband is dead. I am expecting our child.

The dust is all everyone talks about in the square. I refuse to wash it from my skin. I go brazenly past the police through the town. I am layered in dust. It is my mourning gown.

The doctors say the nausea is common. . . and that the pain will go away. I laugh at them. I don’t...

The Phantom Tower

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By Frederic Tuten

His father, the county doctor, loved him. He read to him even when he returned tired from his rounds, from Miss Biddle with her gout and Judge Jackson with his ever-weakening heart and all the others in the countryside who needed him. When he turned eight, the doctor gave the boy books for his birthday.

 “You have reached the age of reason,” the doctor...

Three Sisters (On Disturbed Ground)

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by Esther Kinsky

M. starts a new round of chemotherapy treatment. It’s been a year now, roughly, since we first came here, in my memory the trees were still bare. Could that be possible? Seems such a very long time ago. M. gets out of the car, walks off, across this little wasteland of tree stumps and rubble left over from the recent carnage on this site, so heavy with history, so...

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