Stories live through their readers. This year’s winners of American Short Fiction’s Insider Prize were brought to life by dozens of readers—by my friends, colleagues, students, two former high school teachers, and our guest judge, Peter Orner—generous individuals who donated their time to a bounty of incredible submissions. ASF’s partnership with Huston-Tillotson University’s Department of English and Institute for Justice and Equity has made sharing and celebrating the winning stories and … [Read more...] about Read the winners of the 2024 Insider Prize
EOD
Sam feared old people. She feared their drooping folds, their soft edges, like a block of butter left out for too long. They haunted the office in their squelching orthopedic sneakers, moving so slowly that Sam sometimes expected them to leave behind snail trails of mucus. She drifted behind them in the hallways, keeping at least ten paces of distance. She didn’t like to get too close to their odor of mothballs and lye soap; she didn’t want to see where their hair had thinned to reveal the … [Read more...] about EOD
Shouting Is at Least Talking
For six years I dated Ian, but only once we broke up did everyone close to me reveal they never liked him anyway. “We didn’t want to tell you,” my mother said. “We?” “Your father never liked him either.” She went quiet. “Ian’s tone was a little off. Do you know what I mean?” “He was good at communicating his needs,” I said. I found myself defending Ian, or at least defending my choice to spend six years with him, after a week of convincing myself I wasn’t right for him. “If you didn’t like … [Read more...] about Shouting Is at Least Talking
Bleed and Bleed
Christopher was the nicest man I had ever met and so I was engaged to him. We got engaged during his residency and I told people we would get married when he became a doctor, but he never became a doctor he became a physician-scientist at the university researching von Willebrand disease because he thought this way he could help many people at once instead of one at a time. He often told me just how many people in the US alone suffered from von Willebrand disease, but I forgot immediately … [Read more...] about Bleed and Bleed
House
I don’t climb up the downspout to my window, don’t have to hope it holds. I’ve missed curfew, but I was with Lily; no one is holding their breath. I use the key under the crocodile planter—tangles of rosemary, sage, thyme, a whole world creeping out from inside its jaws—and I take off my shoes, skip the second stair that creaks. Upstairs, my brother, Max, midway through another Adderall-fueled admissions essay, doesn’t look away from his laptop. “You’re hooking up with her,” he says. We’re … [Read more...] about House
Dievas X
There’s no escaping the bath ladies. They come out at night in our small village and limp to my tiny house on Naujoji Street. They knock and I go to open the door. It’s the custom to let everyone in. I’m in northern Lithuania, near the edge of a pine forest with roaming stallions that bite. I left New Jersey to live here. I am polite. The ladies are one hundred years old. I offer them coffee, not tea. They bring a paper bag. I recognize the bag. I’d thrown it out. At midnight the two search … [Read more...] about Dievas X