Fiction

By Barbara Miers
FEBRUARY

Weekend Archives: Trees by Anthony Doerr

Trees, by Anthony Doerr, was first published in Litro Magazine: Jul 2012. He stops at the supply room window, a floor-to-ceiling sheet of glass, double-paned, six feet wide. The best window in the entire building. Third storey, forty feet up. He has been in here maybe three thousand times and hasn’t noticed this window once. Maybe they’ve stripped it of blinds, or hauled some obscuring shelf away. Read more →
Photo by Philip Asbury
FEBRUARY

From Sri Lanka… With Love

I’d gone to bed in Hong Kong. A night full of regrets. And a do-not-disturb sign left swinging grimly from my hotel room door-knob like the newly hoisted frame of a young Southerner who had been seen cavorting with the wrong woman in the wrong era of American history. [private] Read more →
FEBRUARY

Litro 159: First Dates | The Remarkable Girls You Can Find in the Peculiar Depths of the Internet

We chatted, words flowed. She told me about her art studio, about backpacking around South America, about the notebook in which she collected the stickers you get on bananas. I felt compelled to tell her secrets but instead talked about my work, my migraines, my mother. Read more →
SEPTEMBER

Litro #155 | Movement: The Sum of Our Misfortunes

At first she liked the best of us, the quiet ones with jobs who had showers in the same place every morning. But she was a thirsty girl and soon we were not enough. Our drugs, our cocks, the wall of our chatter and even what she saw of our majestic womenfolk and on Friday, our prayers. She finished with us. We would be ignored in bars and on wind-whipped street corners. We sat on benches and watched her walking that dog in the Boboli Gardens. Read more →
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JUNE

Litro #153: Open | Cassia County Fair, As Caroline Understands It

Now she felt stupid, foolish. She didn’t know drunk, hadn’t known that this was drunk, that this is what it felt like. Another snicker shuddered around the group as, one by one, each looked down to see if she really was too drunk to stand. Caroline flushed the same hot red, and tried to ignore them, searching for Henry’s face instead. He still wasn’t looking at her, was keeping his face trained away from hers. She stared hard, willing him to notice her. Read more →