Fiction

  • 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...
  • 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...
  • Jagged Rage
    Accustomed to exercising military power, that afternoon Rachstad was strolling like a god in his cloudy gardens. He went along escorted by a group of anti-demographic agents that usually accompanied h...
  • Bonsai
    When I was small, smaller than I am today, I had a friend I chatted with all the time. He didn’t know what I was; I don’t think he even knew how old I was. I think he thought I was twice his age. Even...
  • Empty Seats
    By Yoss
    For many years, it was a courteous but, to tell the truth, not very sincere custom in our still young nation that in acts such as this, the individual honored with the highest award of our pan-Caribbe...
  • Rodrigo Fresán
    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...
  • 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...
  • Sergio Pitol
    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...
  • Sergio Pitol, Margo Glantz, Carlos Monsiváis
    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...
  • 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...
  • Luisa Valenzuela
    At the meeting of the strange Sect of Flash Fiction Writers, we listened to each other with enough suspension of disbelief—to use the curious quote from Coleridge—but also with the necessary contact w...
  • Mariana Torres
    That’s all he said, all the explanation he gave us. He shook his head, happy to be able to wave his branches openly. We were so shocked we must even have stopped breathing. Some of us vomited. The oth...
  • Jazmina Barrera
    Yaquina Head Lighthouse. Brick tower painted white, 93 feet high. Original Fresnel lens, visible at 18.5 nautical miles. Blink pattern, two seconds on, two seconds off, two seconds on, fourteen second...
  • Pedro Novoa
    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 Tattoo
    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...
  • Betrayal
    Her face, engraved with wrinkles, couldn’t hide the sadness that she carried in her heart, a pain so immense that with every breath she took she would have preferred to remain asleep forever and to ne...
  • 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...
  • 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...
  • Marilia Wakes Up
    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...
  • Formas de evasión
    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...
  • Educación mecánica
    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...
  • Chicken Joint
    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...
  • Dance of the Defeated
    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...
  • Censor Anti-Plagios
    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.
  • The Wild Book
    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...

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