Fiction

  • Cristina Rivera Garza
  • Yuri Herrera
    When you are a pestilent being the world stops being pestilent. Or does it?
  • Veracruz Buses
    Only an idiot could believe that all Latinas could have the good luck of a J-Lo.
  • Yoss
    By Yoss
    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...
  • Vicenta Siosi
    Pretty, pretty pretty, my grandmother would call me. The lady who sold milk called me pretty and the lady who passed by every day on her donkey called me pretty. Any man who saw me said it, pretty, an...
  • Victoria de Stefano
    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...
  • Yoss
    By Yoss
    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...
  • Rabanito al amanecer
    She has the face of someone who has just sworn off marriage: part wilted, part revived, neither of the factions ever too transparent.
  • Yoss
    By Yoss
    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...
  • Shoot the last one of them. Here they come. Shit. What’s wrong now? Another bug. Fucking bugs. I programmed it so that if she keeps the keys we couldn’t head back to pick the money. The app’s not work...
  • Anatomy
    The headache began minutes after S. heard the last thunderclap, just the one that had sounded as if the remains of volcanic rock upon which the city had been built were adjusting themselves, preparing...
  • Jaime Collyer
    Just as the academic year was ending, the shipment from Trans-RUW came to his door, containing the sealed test-tube in which Foucault awaited, that realized possibility of a repli...
  • Border Riders
    From the rubble of war-gutted Juárez they emerge: el Chamuco and his rumblefish clique. La Güera is at point, machete and Glock in hand, wheaten hair bound in a bandana. Next comes Einstein, hairnet a...
  • Skater
    It’s raining when Osmundo stops me by the crosswalk. It wasn’t raining a moment ago. In another reality a half step to the left of this one, the sun is shining and Osmundo is a skater punk who goes by...
  • Buenos Aires
    Mateo arrived in Buenos Aires when he was ten years old. Twelve more have gone by since; he has repeatedly convinced himself that it was worth it to rid himself of his Peruvian identity. His evocation...
  • Rosario Barahona
    It’s strange, but that’s what I was thinking about when I (un)heard an unusual clanging on my street’s sidewalk: a taxi door that closed with a crunch, a couple of male voices and some far-off steps,...
  • Lola Copacabana
    L.L. has just gotten up to eat a piece of gelatin—approximately five grams worth—off the floor. It’s not something she gives much thought to and, as she runs her tongue over her gums to remove the cru...
  • El hombre que vino de lejos
    When he awoke, the man did not know where he was. He did not remember anything, not even who he was. When he searched through his scant belongings, he found no sign of his identity, not even a scrap o...
  • Cuban Dog
    I went to live in a dead horse.
  • Mexican Road
    He wasn’t convincing, but I didn’t want to argue. Besides, deep down, I wasn’t too worried about the trip: how bad could it be? I’d get to Torreón in the morning, drop off some documents, they’d sign...
  • Cyber-proletarian
    I wanted to leave the lab, but he wouldn’t allow me. Even though he was a genius, my creator couldn’t provide me anything more than the limitations imposed by his own intelligence. Had I remained ther...
  • Raúl Flores Iriarte
    There's a dead Nazi under my table.
  • Milena Solot
    Memo, it’s so long since I spoke to you, your face is blurred in my mind. Do you remember the last time? I do. How could I forget? In case you’re struggling, I’ll refresh your memory: it was when Elod...
  • Emerio Medina
    And I thought about telling her more and to reveal other secrets and other materials, other ways of doing things and other ways of life.
  • José J. Veiga
    José J. Veiga’s Sombras de reis barbudos, first published in Brazil in 1972 is a text that is at once familiar and strange, of its time in a way and yet perennially relevant. It has elements...

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