You write your fortune on a five dollar bill and hand it to the attendant. The five dollar bill passes through many hands. They all inherit your fortune. I believed in magic for long enough that magic became part mindset.…
Dear readers, writers, artists, and friends, With your support, Interfictions has spent three years providing an online space for creative work that dwells between forms and genres. The Fall 2016 issue showcases some of the most exciting writers working in…
woodpecker feathers dog hair cattail fluff woven with cedar bark in a delicate plaid a Makah blanket mud-buried 500 years on the not-so-Pacific wet northwest coast a woman’s eye her craft inventing pleasing colours and geometries echoing patterns constructed by…
The linen closet disappeared first. Or maybe it was just the first thing that Anjana noticed, the morning her parents moved into the nursing home. The closet was downstairs, in the short hallway between the kitchen and the guest bedroom.…
I got the text message while waiting to pick my son up at school. No, I am not one of those goonish parents who insist on creating a traffic jam outside the school gate just so the precious children don’t…
SS: You seem busy, Tade! Your debut Making Wolf won the 2016 Kitschies Golden Tentacle Award; Rosewater is out this fall; your novella GNAW is coming in December. How do you find, or make, the time? TT: When you make sleep optional there are…
Old ghosts, who do not mock songs of rot-shod Sokoto droughts, long softly, lost, to lock moss on cold rock, on cold bogs to fox-trot, to toss hollow sobs on robots tomorrow, to hot-hop, to drown shock-floods of Opobo ‘’hotdogs’’,…
In Ann Leckie’s novel Ancillary Justice (Orbit Books: 2013), the imperial Radch rules over much of human-inhabited space. Its culture – and its language – does not identify people on the basis of their gender: it is irrelevant to them.…
Nela’s Dad started the thought. “So they’re calling you Twens? I read an article in The Atlantic about how you’re a generation without a future—” “—No, they can’t conceive the future, linguistically, that was the point—” her mother, correcting. “—okay,…
Tonight, suddenly, Saul Leiter. Then, you. I remembered the night when in my dream, I misspelt Saul as Seul. Lonely, alone. Single. Only. In another vertical dream, a man walked into my bedroom with a pink umbrella but he had…
