Contributors - Masthead - Submissions - Archive - Blogs - Links

Back to the Table of Contents

Spring 2009 Fiction


My Motherís Cold Dead Hands Around My Throat by David Evanier

"Daniel is from the old meat-and- potatoes left, the Jewish upper West Side, the
Living Theater, I.F. Stone, C. Wright Mills, Bread and Puppet Theater left. Now his tiny apartment view from his window is empty of sky, bereft of the city island beneath him where the beggars and the street people and the flower children sat on benches. Gone are the theaters that were torn down for the big apartment buildings that now rob him of a montage of city life."

In the Glow by Nick Mamatas

"Julia showered at the Y and bought new clothes at local stores ó "what am I bid?" fishnets, and pencil skirts, and T-shirts with rhinestones and winking cats on them.  And tiny boots.  She made friends on her second night, thanks to a broad red smear of lipstick and the quivering excitement of thirty hours awake."

Throwing Rocks At Dogs by Kuzhali Manickavel

"As soon as she got home, Kalaiselvi went to the garden and found a stone that fit comfortably inside her fist. Then she crouched by her window and waited. It was the small one that finally entered; the one with sagging blue shorts. The stone whipped silently through the air and caught the small boy in the side of the head. She watched as he crumpled to the ground; then she waited for him to jump to his feet and run. But he didn't."

Monica Arac de Nyeko, The Per Contra Interview with Miriam N. Kotzin

"I started writing more seriously in 1999. That is about the time that I joined FEMRITE. My earliest attempt at story writing was a story about some sort of murder, a mystery."

Our Auntee Maria by Monica Arac de Nyeko

"Auntee Maria stood at the gate. She stood right in the middle of the asphalt walkway which led from the gate to the veranda. She waved the khaki at me. In her green dress, Auntee Maria looked like part of our compound. She looked like she was part of the cypress fence. The cypress fence, which kept our house hidden and separated from the next houses, was old and very high."

Step by R. T. Smith

"Itís not easy to look like me.  I have to work at it myself.  Train hard, eat clean, sleep regular, no booze, no pie, stay tight.  Though experts say less-stress yoga and pilates are safer, step aerobics has been my salvation, turned back the clock (plus a tuck here and there, collagen and Spanx).  Itís a pouty French girl look I get shadowing my eyes, highlighting cheeks with sunset rouge, the bouncy pony tail.  Nobody guesses Iím past forty.  Behind bars, though, itís not like they care about fitness or diet."



© 2005-2009 Per Contra: The International Journal of the Arts, Literature and Ideas