Is during the next family tragedy. She picks me up from the airport. Brings me a bottle of cold water, cucumber-infused facial wipes, an orange, and a jumbo box of Cheez-Its, which she knows I won’t eat. I’m always trying—for once and finally—to be skinny. I slide, sweaty and exhausted and chubby, into her passenger seat. “Where to this time?” she asks. “Bali?” She opens the water bottle because she knows I’m no good at that. “I was thinking Cambodia,” I say. “I hear the noodles are … [Read more...] about The Only Time I See My Sister
The 2022 Halifax Ranch Fiction Prize Winners
We are delighted to announce that our brilliant judge, Kristen Arnett, has selected the winners of this year's The Halifax Ranch Fiction Prize. We consider it our privilege to have spent time with so many terrific submissions—thank you for giving us the opportunity to read your work! Winner: Anita Lo for “Father Fish” Of Lo's story, Arnett writes, "I'm always so impressed by work that's able to set stories inside itself; inset lore, narratives shared and passed, the kind that often … [Read more...] about The 2022 Halifax Ranch Fiction Prize Winners
The 2022 American Short(er) Fiction Prize Winners
We are thrilled to announce the winners for this year's American Short(er) Fiction Prize, judged by National Book Award finalist Brandon Hobson. Thank you to everyone who submitted—it is always uplifting to read your work. Congratulations to the winners! _____ First-Place Prize: "A High School Production of Titus Andronicus" by Greg Schutz Judge Brandon Hobson writes, "'A High School Production of Titus Andronicus' is an extraordinary exploration of family and grief. Written in spare, rich … [Read more...] about The 2022 American Short(er) Fiction Prize Winners
Playing the Ghost
I quit Texas after Lorelei troubled my waters. Ten, fifteen years ago. I drove to New Orleans, then Biloxi and Kansas City, wherever there was nine-ball action. If I found a motor court laid out like a horseshoe, I’d rent a room for a week. A month if the pool hall had Gold Crown tables, longer yet if I met a friendly waitress. I’d been hustling in Knoxville for a year before Jesse Vodinh kicked in my door at the Sunset Motel and accused me of throwing games. Jesse was a stake horse with a … [Read more...] about Playing the Ghost
On Balconies
Everybody loved Berlin except for me and Emory. From my rented bed I could hear the others laughing in the streets. I’d pass the empty bottles on the curbs, lined up like tiny cities for the homeless to collect. Where New York had rooftops; Berlin had balconies, and everywhere I went I was sad and dumb and twenty-two—an age that pretends to matter when it doesn’t. — Emory and I didn’t like each other, but we didn’t have anyone else. We moved to Berlin on the same day in September, and a mutual … [Read more...] about On Balconies
Matt’s
Day after the school shooting in Florida, my son’s elementary practices lockdown. When I pick his five-year-old self up in the parking lot crowded with parents I don’t breathe. I’ve been drinking, is why, so I hold my body in my mouth. “Noel and his partner are in town, we’re meeting for dinner at Matt’s,” I say to my boy, loading him in the car. Strapping him down. “We're good at traveling together,” my brother tells me at the restaurant. He takes a bite from his Juicy Lucy. “We're … [Read more...] about Matt’s