Fiction – Page 18 – Michigan Quarterly Review

Fiction

“Rabbit-in-the-Moon,” by Viet Dinh

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My girlfriend Hiroko’s grandmother was the first mochi death of the new millennium, and I knew that this was bad news. Spirits freed from their earthly bodies on New Year’s Day are immensely powerful—it’s winning the spirit lottery—and all debts must be reckoned immediately.

“Rabbit-in-the-Moon,” by Viet Dinh Read More »

My girlfriend Hiroko’s grandmother was the first mochi death of the new millennium, and I knew that this was bad news. Spirits freed from their earthly bodies on New Year’s Day are immensely powerful—it’s winning the spirit lottery—and all debts must be reckoned immediately.

“The Asylum Officer,” by Amy Gustine

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They arrive at the Chicago Asylum Office from as far west as Idaho, as far south as Missouri, as far east as Ohio. How they reach those places from where they start—Bangladesh, Romania, Somalia, Guatemala—doesn’t matter. Why is the only question he has to answer, though it seems the strangest one to ask.

“The Asylum Officer,” by Amy Gustine Read More »

They arrive at the Chicago Asylum Office from as far west as Idaho, as far south as Missouri, as far east as Ohio. How they reach those places from where they start—Bangladesh, Romania, Somalia, Guatemala—doesn’t matter. Why is the only question he has to answer, though it seems the strangest one to ask.

“Mrs. Sadness,” by Lydia Conklin

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This is the story: Kit was home after school, making her favorite sandwich of kale and peanut butter. The phone rang and she didn’t answer. They’re almost in the new millennium, but Kit’s family still has an answering machine that looks like a shoebox with vents.

“Mrs. Sadness,” by Lydia Conklin Read More »

This is the story: Kit was home after school, making her favorite sandwich of kale and peanut butter. The phone rang and she didn’t answer. They’re almost in the new millennium, but Kit’s family still has an answering machine that looks like a shoebox with vents.

“The Bridesmaid,” by Bonnie Jo Campbell

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I felt no fear, though my legs were thin, hardly bigger than the barrel of the gun, and my arms were strained. I felt no fear at the prospect of shooting this man, of watching his body crumple, then dragging the corpse inside, quickly so the heat didn’t escape from the house.

“The Bridesmaid,” by Bonnie Jo Campbell Read More »

I felt no fear, though my legs were thin, hardly bigger than the barrel of the gun, and my arms were strained. I felt no fear at the prospect of shooting this man, of watching his body crumple, then dragging the corpse inside, quickly so the heat didn’t escape from the house.

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