Per Contra An International Journal of the Arts, Literature, and Ideas

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issue 28 > fiction

  • Room to Breathe

    by Matthew Brennan
    Marin remembers the first time he met her, walking past him along the pier where he sat, the skirts of her dress drifting on the wind, black swirls of ink in her skin bleeding through the white fabric where the wind pressed it against her body.

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  • Something to Desire

    by Tasha Cotter
    My French was better than Malina's, but not Rada's (no one in that class was better than Rada) so when the Châtelet-Les Halles metro intercom announced that there'd been a suicide on the tracks I, at least, had the brains to realize they were making a mistake.

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  • You've Changed

    by Sam Katz
    We were in the criminal court in Chinatown and Melody wasn't happy about it. She was serving as my counsel. I'd like to think she'd come to provide some sort of support, but that wasn't the truth—I'd tried to touch her during the subway ride over and she'd brushed my hand aside. There was no getting around it. She was out for blood.

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  • The New Start

    by Sandra Kolankiewicz
    "We shouldn't be here," said Susan to Mary, eyeing the bottles on the shelves behind the bar and seeing in the mirror's reflection the long view out the window toward the deep blue northern Atlantic. "We said we wouldn't drink."

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  • Europe is the Invention of Americans

    by Charles Rafferty
    There is no Europe. I've been saying this for years, much to my wife's discomfort at cocktail parties and reunions.

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  • Rain Out

    by Stephen Shane
    The afternoon game had been rained out in the third inning. Lopez watched from the dugout as the last of the crowd made for the exits under their umbrellas and open newspapers and the field hands rolled the black tarp over the infield.

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  • Dr. Henrietta Stern

    by Efrem Sigel
    Dr. Henrietta Stern was nothing like Howie's mother, Alice, who had a knack for smothering him with her infuriating cheerfulness at all the wrong moments. Here he was, surly, uncommunicative, one foot on the staircase headed to the refuge of his room, and here was Alice, pestering him with pointless questions.

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  • The girl with the violin

    by Michael Spring
    She came in waving the violin, smiling, looking as though she had just consigned us all to hell.

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