Fiction

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In a fit of New Year’s can-do-ism, Victoria promised herself she’d find love by the end of the weekend. She waited for her Friday date, sipping the lightest beer that Hound and Wolf served, which compensated with cherry flavor for what it lacked in proof. It tasted like expired children’s medicine, was impossible to drink …

Associate Editor Andy Sia: Shikhandin’s haunting story pays mind to possession: what we own, what we do not own, and what we feel owed to. Clothing—a metonymy for inheritance—is a spectral presence in the piece, constellating around the body, cinching, draping, slipping. Amid the maw of loss, the piece crescendos toward the end in a …

Depending on the situation and people involved, this outside world may or may not crash like terse waves into said Self, transgressing a felt sense of sovereignty, wholeness, intactness, a concept which is intangible yet real . . . very real.

Sarah Chin’s story navigates the sticky terrain of grief.

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