Recommended Reading From Online Magazines

All we can hope for is that you’ll read these stories with the same curiosity as Donald Trump looking over Obama’s newly-released birth certificate. Question them if you like, but we can tell you right now: we got ‘em all from reputable sources.

Hasta pronto, amigos.

– Nick pulled at his shirt in the heat and thought that life could have a fair amount to do with variations of truth that you either had to face or mitigate or manage in some manner to avoid. A shiver passed over him and he saw that the two basketball players had stopped and were staring at him. One held the ball against his hip; the other had his arms folded across his chest. Nick nodded to them and walked back down the hill to the car. – William Cass in 322 Review

– I was in the car when the autism came on again, and I tilted my head to drain it out. My sister was driving and asked how it felt. I said it was like hands invading a piano, tuning it. She asked about the car in the lane next to us, but she did not want to know the truth. She only wanted to know what face the woman was wearing who was getting it from behind in the backseat. – Trent England in The Collagist

– When I whipped my want into a tantrum, Denise skirted my edges because whatever I fought for, she wanted piece of. I flailed from couch to floor-length draperies in my sulk until Mother wrenched me from the window, predicting disaster: “You’re going to yank the whole thing down.” I was stick-thin, slightly anemic, easily manhandled. Denise, one year younger, stood in the next window, opening and closing the draperies, to hide and reveal herself, playing elevator. – Donna D. Vitucci in Corium Magazine

– If you take off Vladimir’s dress, you will find that Vladimir’s fur is not red. If you donate the dress to an unreasonable charity, you will discover that giving is not always better than receiving a day or two off from the detective squad. And if stroking Vladimir does not appeal to you, well then you probably never really understood your father’s beard. – Rich Ives in Abjective

– These are my symptoms: cropped speech. Lemonade breath. A worry-shaped hole in the middle of my palm, dug in with my nails. Sneaking hot chocolate into my room instead of eating awkwardly with everyone. – Amy Bergen in Fiction at Work