Max Sessner

  SHADOWS   Now the shadows wander into the house they are like grandmothers who look back one more time before they leave us...
Continue Reading

Olga Pek

I retrace my steps, barefoot and diligent as a shipwreck

J. R. Pick

Now, Tony lay on his back in the sick room in L 315, watching a fly on the ceiling. The fly was clearly bored. This was no surprise to Tony. He was bored too.

Eva Peterfy-Novak

He looked back at me, he was taking note of the moment in his head. The moment the fairy tale crumbled.

Pavol Rankov

I’m not convinced of anything. I don’t trust my memory, which tells me that the entire village gathered in front of the house that night. They had come to do something bad. I can still see the whole thing. A tribal ritual.

Silent The Bird In The Wood: A Goethe Translation-Erasure By Joshua Weiner

Silent the bird in the wood

Andrei Konchalovsky

My very notion of our entire twenty-year relationship went straight to the depths of Hell. None of the roses I had sent her over the years — to her home, to her dressing room — could explain, could excuse, such a colossal misunderstanding.

Anatoly Mariengof

A fragile ego is a torturous, irredeemable, and irremediable, quality for a writer. And yet, oh so common.

Daniel Levente Pal

Here, in just a few square kilometers, you can find everything that defines our Europe, the old one and the new.

Eva Peterfy-Novak

By the time I reach the café, I manage to wipe the grin off my face somewhat; it’s not right, forcing some desperate woman to see how happy I am.

Designed by B O D Y | Powered by Data3s