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
When she opened the door that morning, there they were again as they’d always been: two men standing on the porch. Black coats. Black pants. White shirts. Neckties. All smiles.
“G’mornin’, ma’am!” said the first one. The second one never said anything. Continue reading “Porch: 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. Continue reading “Jalsa: a short story”
I used to think
that writing is written to be read;
Writing is written
to be written.
YEARS have passed since I last saw daylight. YEARS! or minutes. Who can be sure? What are years and months and hours and minutes in a place like this? Such places know only solitude and rancor. Time and God shirk them.
God knew well to make Hell’s wrath an eternal one. Eternity is a hell in itself.
Continue reading “the pit: a short story”