Creative Nonfiction by Vlad Linder Translated from the Russian by Marika Marina One can travel in different ways: observe the surroundings comfortably through a car window, or blend into the local people’s lives, experiencing and going through their pain and joy, troubles and concerns, just as the author of ‘The Chronicles of Cambodia” did. Vlad Linder describes in detail his journey to the land of The Khmer Rouge, which took place in April 2012 . . .. Part I A week after my arrival in Sihanoukville, I was rather tired of the predictable life of a settled tourist. Staying at a snug little house right on the shore of the Gulf of Siam, I kept feeling I was looking at the world through a well-polished, barely visible glass. I set off to a place, where…
“A Mayan Love”
A Novel in Ten 140-Word Tweets by John Gantz We’ve intentionally chosen today, April First – AKA All Fool’s Day – to publish this wise, witty, sex-and-death novel. We leave it to you to discern exactly what this Mayan love story means. You may want to re-read it a few times. Oh, and figure out why we’re publishing it today. 1. The body lay at his feet, desiccated, looking up. He nudged it. Another one, he mumbled. Time is short. 2. What is it she asked, hookah smoke curling around her head? ’’’Nother roach. I thought they could survive an A-bomb.” 3. TS Elliot was wrong. It wouldn’t end with a whimper, OR a bang, but a cloud, a cloud of alien germs bathing the earth. 4. Come here, she said, opening her blouse. He…
Tributes to Heritage: Preeti Shah’s Poetry
Mother Hindustan In the years that you have been inked into a map, laid down, unraveled, all corners of you outstretched, with man who has always crossed at your borders, you have sung the songs and poems of martyrs. But will another song ever be sung? Your tongue was made of the lakes from the Kashmir Valley. You still hold it still. Even as your children suckle from you, bite down, swallow blood, when they fear the milk will stop flowing. You still hold your tongue still. All of your children were born under the mountains of your body and the stars from your eyes. All of your children fell asleep to the coolness of your breath. But forgot its sweet lullaby. But, none ever forget the sounds of burning flesh. They…
“Secret Shepherd” – A Novel Excerpt, Part 2
By James Osborne Editor’s Note: Yesterday, we published Part I of this two-part excerpt. If you haven’t read it, you can scroll back on the home page slider to read it. When they arrived at the school, the three national elders were waiting. With them were Namusat’s current chief and the local council, and another local elder. When everyone was introduced and seated, Chief John Boisvert turned to Paul and said brusquely, “Why have you come?” Paul heard a sharp edge in Chief Boisvert’s voice, but he could see his eyes were not angry or aggressive. They bore a look of elegance and kindness… and much sadness. “I have not come with handouts nor have I come with any promises,” Paul replied. “I came to listen, perhaps to learn from you, and with your help…
“Secret Shepherd” – A Novel Excerpt
By James Osborne Editor’s Note: Due to the length of this excerpt from James Osborne’s new novel, we are presenting it in two parts, today and tomorrow. This is an excerpt from the book SECRET SHEPHERD, copyright © 2018 by JAMES OSBORNE. Published by Solstice Publishing Inc. Excerpted by permission of the author. All rights reserved. Namusat, Quebec, Canada November 1994 “Another two just last night!” Dan Stonechild said, his voice breaking. “That’s four suicides here in three weeks, Paul. Oh my… four! Four little kids!” Paul Winston embraced his friend awkwardly. Both wore knee-length parkas against the 30 below zero cold, their hands thrust deep in double-layered mittens, their feet clad in fur mukluks. Paul had just arrived on a chartered plane in the remote First Nations community of Namusat in northern Canada, after…