Hidden Nature
No. 4 August 2017
Overture
Saint Ann
My mother prances around the house, arms and hands hallelujahed, chanting “Saint Ann, Saint Ann send us a man.” I follow her laughing, grabbing her shirt that flies behind her like a sail.
By Almari Randall
Table Manners
Your fork screeches across the plate, bringing the dinner conversation to an abrupt halt. You feel as if you should apologize but you cannot.
By Sam Claussen
Disappointingly Ellen
She shuffles, not over to the side because that would make sense, but right in the middle of the sidewalk. I try to be patient, squashing the urge to pull her flabby arms and yank her out of the way so people can pass.
By Lisa Walter
The Good Girl
In our village in Northern India, where daughters are a luxury most families cannot or choose not to afford, my grandfather loves my sister Simran and me.
By Adithi Rao
Only the Children Survived
I remember mom saying, “You know child, the trouble with the day you die is that it starts out just like any other day. Death just comes, like a relative you never wanted to see.”
By Karl “Tony” Ginyard
The Red Harmonica
In Sarajevo he had played cello in a chamber orchestra. Of course, he had not managed to bring his cello with him out of the old country, but he had bought himself a harmonica.
By Ann Syréhn Tomasevic
Yellow Dominos
Run, like Lot’s wife, forever cursed you will be if you look back. Run until the air no longer carries the smell of flesh and the sky is blue again. Run until your footprints are no longer the blood of your brothers.
By Ahmad Alhomsi
Fisher of the Dead
Asdisa had seen the souls melt like butter across the jagged edge of ugali before they vanished. He had fished the same dank hole for so long that he had lost track of time.
By Jonathan DeCoteau
Bonus
Farewell to the City
Nonfiction by Pete Johnson
Author Interview
With Jonathan DeCoteau
Ghost Poems
By Akshat Thakur