“Good morning. Happy Birthday of your favorite Ganesh. Love. Good Day.” and “Please don’t forget about your flu shot.”

By Rajnesh Chakrapani
Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Fiction

Someone up there in charge of making the sky beautiful.

Fiction

Their beautiful skin is the color of perfection, the shade of impeccably cooked lechón.

Fiction

Stars, trees, lasers, lights, everything locking into nothing, everything together yet apart.

Fiction

Because the summer feels more hellfire than hellfire.

Fiction

What if the world was stuck, frozen, and we could go anywhere we wanted, together?

Fiction

A few steps are all that separate us.

Fiction

We—our family—had so little to give each other; maybe we needed to look elsewhere.

Fiction

It’s always only Rio standing there.

Fiction

For it is what Grandma made best, and it is what we knew and ate.

Fiction

You know what I am trying to do for you, Night, she says. I am trying to make life easier.

Fiction

Kulu cranks her jaws wide open upon seeing us

Fiction

Maybe you should’ve said something sooner, Robert.

Essays

A notebook on alchemy, memory, and sensation

Fiction

I had vowed to be different, but I wasn’t able to escape servitude, even eight thousand miles away in New York.

Fiction

You’re brought up by blue, Father said.

Fiction

I wonder how the body knows it’s ready to feed another life. Does it even get a choice to be ready?

Fiction

We heard a glass break, then saw our mother, saw what looked like tears.

Fiction

Astrological insights from twelve of our most recent flash stories

Fiction

I close my eyes once again and let my hands remember the beat.

Fiction

Looking is not enough. You must run this beauty between finger and thumb.

Fiction

Someone up there in charge of making the sky beautiful.

Fiction

Kulu cranks her jaws wide open upon seeing us

Fiction

Their beautiful skin is the color of perfection, the shade of impeccably cooked lechón.

Fiction

Maybe you should’ve said something sooner, Robert.

Fiction

Stars, trees, lasers, lights, everything locking into nothing, everything together yet apart.

Essays

A notebook on alchemy, memory, and sensation

Fiction

Because the summer feels more hellfire than hellfire.

Fiction

I had vowed to be different, but I wasn’t able to escape servitude, even eight thousand miles away in New York.

Fiction

What if the world was stuck, frozen, and we could go anywhere we wanted, together?

Fiction

You’re brought up by blue, Father said.

Fiction

A few steps are all that separate us.

Fiction

I wonder how the body knows it’s ready to feed another life. Does it even get a choice to be ready?

Fiction

We—our family—had so little to give each other; maybe we needed to look elsewhere.

Fiction

We heard a glass break, then saw our mother, saw what looked like tears.

Fiction

It’s always only Rio standing there.

Fiction

Astrological insights from twelve of our most recent flash stories

Fiction

For it is what Grandma made best, and it is what we knew and ate.

Fiction

I close my eyes once again and let my hands remember the beat.

Fiction

You know what I am trying to do for you, Night, she says. I am trying to make life easier.

Fiction

Looking is not enough. You must run this beauty between finger and thumb.