Force: a story story

Today is Monday October 9.

Today misses Spencer goed up to the front of the class and sayd to us Class one two three one two three drop your pencil eyes on me and then she smiled at us and we laffed becaz her smile its so pretty. Then misses spencer sayd Friends we are going to have a new adition to our class he is a new studint Everyone say hello to our new friend !  then we all said HELLO NEW FRIEND but he didnt say hi back he just standed in the front of the class and he looked down on the flor and haved his arms crosed and a mad face and then Misses Spencer sayd to the new boy Why dont you tell us your name? …

Read the full graphic version here: Force, by Yousef Alqamoussi

Jalsa: a short story

“Bro, this queer’s fleeked out or some shit.”

Ameer had understood only two words from that sentence: “this” and “or”.

The others must have been in a vernacular unfamiliar to him. After all, he was aware that American English varied by region. When he had heard the sentence in class, whispered schemingly from one classmate to another, he had scrambled to write it down. He only hoped that he had spelled it out correctly: “brow this kweerz flekout or semshet”. He had hoped to look the words up later.

Did this sentence even have a predicate?

But now was not the time for study. The call for Evening Prayer had been made, and afterwards the Elders would be gathering for the jalsa in the guest room. He went to the sink to make wudu’, or ablution, and then descended the stairs for prayer with his siblings and the guests who had already arrived. He greeted each person present with a firm handshake, a kiss on the cheek, and a kiss on the right shoulder. With marvelous precision, the men assembled in solid rows, facing east, as the foremost (and oldest) of them announced “Allaaaaaaahu Akbar…

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HOST: a short story

I was stirred awake by sounds before unheard. Gonging flinching rhythmic pounding aching switching soothing—all in one, one in all—is the only way I can describe them. Individually, they were distinct as could be—polar, in fact, related in no way—but they came together and melded into one liquid fluid flowing floating form that roused me from the depths of sleep to unprecedented tranquility. If I could find one relative word to describe this euphoric orum, I’d call it “music”. But how far it was from what we call “music”!

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