“By some miracle
his bike was still going bone straight.”

By Ting Lin
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Fiction

before she could contemplate doing something for herself with her time

Fiction

She didn’t mind amusing them—humor was part of her intent

Fiction

We resented her white knuckles, darting eyes.

Fiction

Mei had been in jail for six months and a handful of days.

Fiction

I think about your hands when I look at mine

Fiction

但巡迴遊樂園並不害怕,只要再次拆卸自毀,它們換個地方就可以重新活過來。
| As long as the traveling carnival committed self-destruction, it could come alive once more in a different place.

Fiction

And yet you’re still here.

Fiction

Chow reminded Cheng that a lot of writers drink but drinking does not turn him into a writer.

Fiction

You dreamed of what could be, unaware of what was.

Fiction

“I’m a truck driver. Long-distance. I just came back from California yesterday.”

Fiction

twelve new years

Fiction

This made for juicy morsels of gossip for the goûter at four o’clock

Fiction

I wrack my brain for ways of describing this pain but nothing original comes to mind.

Fiction

He had once asked his mother to describe his father’s face, a question whose weight he did not recognise until he had been older.

Fiction

I was angry then. No. I wanted to be just like her.

Fiction

I went on a jog this morning in a never-ending Chinatown.

Fiction

After everyone has passed it around, Tharani wraps it in a tissue and tucks it into her polar-fleece pocket.

Fiction

Trying is a fitting operative verb here.

Fiction

A handful of us scream in recognition like sea flares on a dance floor.

Fiction

before she could contemplate doing something for herself with her time

Fiction

twelve new years

Fiction

She didn’t mind amusing them—humor was part of her intent

Fiction

This made for juicy morsels of gossip for the goûter at four o’clock

Fiction

We resented her white knuckles, darting eyes.

Fiction

I wrack my brain for ways of describing this pain but nothing original comes to mind.

Fiction

Mei had been in jail for six months and a handful of days.

Fiction

I think about your hands when I look at mine

Fiction

He had once asked his mother to describe his father’s face, a question whose weight he did not recognise until he had been older.

Fiction

但巡迴遊樂園並不害怕,只要再次拆卸自毀,它們換個地方就可以重新活過來。
| As long as the traveling carnival committed self-destruction, it could come alive once more in a different place.

Fiction

I was angry then. No. I wanted to be just like her.

Fiction

And yet you’re still here.

Fiction

I went on a jog this morning in a never-ending Chinatown.

Fiction

Chow reminded Cheng that a lot of writers drink but drinking does not turn him into a writer.

Fiction

After everyone has passed it around, Tharani wraps it in a tissue and tucks it into her polar-fleece pocket.

Fiction

You dreamed of what could be, unaware of what was.

Fiction

Trying is a fitting operative verb here.

Fiction

“I’m a truck driver. Long-distance. I just came back from California yesterday.”

Fiction

A handful of us scream in recognition like sea flares on a dance floor.