By GINA CILIBERTO Margaret Lamb/Writing to the Right-Hand Margin Prize Co-Winner (Nonfiction) My home is small and rectangular. It comprises a kitchen, living room, dining room, three bedrooms, and two bathrooms above a basement and a garage, all wrapped in beige siding and maroon shutters, and a roof that keeps out the water. There is a green yard, and, in […]
Archive for category: Short Fiction
By CHRISTY POTTROFF Margaret Lamb/Writing to the Right-Hand Margin Prize Co-Winner (Nonfiction) Late one night, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and cotton underwear, I tiptoed down the stairs of my parents’ Kansas farmhouse. My sixteen-year-old legs had not yet decided on flesh, muscle, and bone, but they deftly moved me across the cool wood floors into the kitchen. I found […]
By LAURA SMITH TERRY Margaret Lamb/Writing to the Right-Hand Margin Prize Runner-Up (Nonfiction) 1. You won’t let me take my puffy winter coat to the thrift store. What once was white is now dingy and speckled, with the gray condensing to form a black ring around the cuffs of the sleeves. A soiled line runs over both shoulders, darker on […]
By JOHN HAROLD Academy of American Poets Prize Co-Winner The diner is only open when it rains. You need holes in your jacket and at least a three day beard to be seated at the counter. You sit down next to a man with glitter in his hat and no laces on his shoes and he tells you he owns […]
The husband stormed out of the house, axe in hand, his wife crying behind him.
An unearthly silence filled the car. It was a Tuesday, the third Tuesday of the month. It was particularly hot that day, the kind of hot that left your eyes dry and head spinning. She liked the long walk to the train station. She liked the silence that came with her walking, much different from the current silence
Like feathers, swirling up in long, billowing wisps. It didn’t have to be like the real world’s grass. It didn’t even have to be green.
By Caitlin McElroy Margaret Lamb/Writing to the Right-Hand Margin Prize (Fiction) Award Co-Winner Published: April 20, 2011 I worked for my dad for about two hours before he fired me. We’d both gotten up early that morning so he could teach me how to work the register. It wasn’t that hard, and I was an expert with twenty minutes still […]
By Nathalie Rochel Honorable Mention Writing to the Right-Hand Margin Prize in Fiction Published: April 22, 2010 The dress was $2,395. There was nothing wrong with that. It was beautiful: it was twilight, dusty grapes, and soft plums crushed into velvet. The dress hung—no—draped itself over Lucy’s mother like silk, flowing down to her knees in soft ripples. Lucy thought […]
By Sarah Shultz Co-winner Writing to the Right Hand Margin Prize in Fiction Published: April 22, 2010 Joseph Heller can (appropriately) go to hell. Because: Something (this thing) Never Happened. Nothing ever happens, in fact. You are not standing with your little feet on the hot pool deck, sand covered toes aligned perfectly with the pool’s edge. You can not feel […]