somewhere up here in the north—the core of it beneath one of these frozen fields; as if blue is a thing that emerges, in some parts of the world, from the soil itself, after the sun goes down.” Bass, Hermit’s Story” —Rick “The grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida.” “The O’Connor, Good Man Is Hard to Find” —Flannery “A it’s Sunday and it’s stopped raining, I think I’ll take a bouquet of roses to my grave.” “Since Garcia Marquez, Has Been Disarranging Roses” —Gabriel “Someone the blind man arrived in the city, he claimed that he had travelled across a desert of living sand.” “When Brockmeier, A Brief History of the Dead —Kevin one saw him disembark in the unanimous night, no one saw the bamboo canoe sinking into the sacred mud, “No but within a few days no one was unaware that the silent man came from the South and that his home was one of the infinite villages upstream, on the violent mountainside, where the Zend tongue is not contaminated with Greek and where leprosy is infrequent.” Luis Borges, The Circular Ruins —Jorge the town there were two mutes, and they were always together.” “In McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter —Carson father would say years later that she had dreamed that part of it, that she had never gone out through the “Her kitchen window at two or three in the morning to visit the birds.” P. Jones, Girl Who Raised Pigeons” —Edward “The cradle won’t hold my baby.” “A Woodrell, —Daniel first and favorite task of the day is slaving over the Iliana Evermore Fairy Castle.” “My Saunders, Mary’s Failed Campaign of Terror.” —George “Downtrodden September evening when Walter Lasher returned from the city after a hard day’s work and was walking to “One his car in the station parking lot, a man stepped out from between two cars, walked up to him, and slapped him hard in the face.” Millhauser, Slap” —Stephen “The woman has written yet another story that is not interesting, though it has a hurricane in it, and a hurricane “A usually promises to be interesting.”
somewhere up here in the north—the core of it beneath one of these frozen fields; as if blue is a thing that emerges, in some parts of the world, from the soil itself, after the sun goes down.” —Rick Bass, “The Hermit’s Story” “The grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida.” —Flannery O’Connor, “A Good Man Is Hard to Find” “Since it’s Sunday and it’s stopped raining, I think I’ll take a bouquet of roses to my grave.” —Gabriel Garcia Marquez, “Someone Has Been Disarranging Roses” “When the blind man arrived in the city, he claimed that he had travelled across a desert of living sand.” —Kevin Brockmeier, A Brief History of the Dead “No one saw him disembark in the unanimous night, no one saw the bamboo canoe sinking into the sacred mud, but within a few days no one was unaware that the silent man came from the South and that his home was one of the infinite villages upstream, on the violent mountainside, where the Zend tongue is not contaminated with Greek and where leprosy is infrequent.” —Jorge Luis Borges, The Circular Ruins “In the town there were two mutes, and they were always together.” —Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter “Her father would say years later that she had dreamed that part of it, that she had never gone out through the kitchen window at two or three in the morning to visit the birds.” —Edward P. Jones, “The Girl Who Raised Pigeons” “A cradle won’t hold my baby.” —Daniel Woodrell, “My first and favorite task of the day is slaving over the Iliana Evermore Fairy Castle.” —George Saunders, “Downtrodden Mary’s Failed Campaign of Terror.” “One September evening when Walter Lasher returned from the city after a hard day’s work and was walking to his car in the station parking lot, a man stepped out from between two cars, walked up to him, and slapped him hard in the face.” —Stephen Millhauser, “The Slap” “A woman has written yet another story that is not interesting, though it has a hurricane in it, and a hurricane usually promises to be interesting.”
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