Fiction
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And so, sometimes, this planet becomes another planet. Thus, we travel from one planet to another without having to cross space. It is just a matter of crossing time and not letting it be time that cr... -
I never credited the author. But I did put the poem in quotations. That was the exercise: guessing who the author was. A few dared insinuate that the poem was mine. -
Since its founding in 2013, Brooklyn-based independent publisher Restless Books has established itself as one of the most cutting-edge publishers of translated literature in the U.S. In the four years... -
But Alina clings to his embrace with stubborn resistance. She’s closed her eyes and in that momentary darkness she senses that another tattoo is branching out inside her, adding dark petals to the vio... -
One sunny Sunday, Fernanda decided we would spend the new year partying in Arica. Her father had bought her a four-wheel-drive truck when she enrolled in college, and despite the fact that she crashed... -
I accept, you fucking asshole, you tell him, convinced, impulsive like the fighter of the Pre-Colombian filigree before his ferocious destiny. And, from somewhere in the world, you hear the resounding... -
A scratch awakens him. Piece of shit cat. His body is soaked in sweat, as if he had a fever. He dries his face with the back of his right hand, which luckily isn’t shaking today. A coughing fit catche... -
When I was 16 years old, I made a radical decision: I wanted to learn to drive and get my driver’s license on the exact day of my 17th birthday—on the very minute that the law would allow. And that’s... -
Drinking in such a way also ensured that he wouldn’t get into street fights with strangers. He had been involved in many over the years, and preferred now to release his rage alone in his room of the... -
She wears her socks up to her knees, because even in the summer, her feet are cold. She sits on the edge of our bed and rolls down the socks: shin, calf, ankle and stops. She straightens up her back a... -
Autumn. That and the dry leaves drifting aimlessly through the streets. On the corner there's a McDonald's that looks like an island, its yellow light shining in the distance, in the middle of the rai... -
I know my name is Victorio. I know people think I’m mad (a fiction that at times infuriates me; and others merely amuses me). I know I'm different from the others, but my father, my sister, my cousin... -
The light is magnificent, yellow and flickering as if a body. Through the windows it’s pouring, the rain rushes through them with unusual force, it soaks everything; but it too is serene, calm, even.... -
The story was very simple and it played over and over again like a film loop: -
It isn’t a good idea to repeatedly ask yourself why you live in an estuary. Upon doing so, upon asking yourself so many times, moreover if you do so before a mirror, it’s very likely that you’ll end u... -
When she opened her handbag in search of her creams, the blue silk pajamas that her sister Beatriz had bought for her in India and that were so comfortable, her slippers, and a bottle of sleeping pill... -
I answered the ad in the paper at the end of February. Barely two months into the New Year and I already knew that with my forced diet of sunflower seeds, rye bread, and raw vegetables I wouldn’t surv... -
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When you are a pestilent being the world stops being pestilent. Or does it? -
Only an idiot could believe that all Latinas could have the good luck of a J-Lo. -
Her name may be Svieta, 11 years old, but she may look older. One of those typical girl-women of the tropics. From a poor family, a neighborhood on the outskirts, a broiler. Naughty, sure of hersel... -
July 8: In the evening I have dinner at P’s house. It’s a longstanding invitation. P. has been a widower for around three years: the period that, according to the Chinese, bereavement should last. Wit... -
January. The 2:34pm sun enters the house unimpeded through the back window, barely held up by a clumsy piece of carpentry. The big rusted nails split through the wood. Only a sheet of nylon prevents t... -
She has the face of someone who has just sworn off marriage: part wilted, part revived, neither of the factions ever too transparent. -
The door-slam sounds like a gunshot. With an empty expression and watery eyes, Julia keeps looking at the sheet of plywood shaking from the blow, for long seconds. Later she gets up, and with her hand...
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