From "Blueberries," nonfiction by Juan Alvarado Valdivia: 

"On the morning of February 28, 2016, I slipped out of bed and sauntered over to the living room since our apartment was unusually quiet. My wife, Maria, sat at the far end of the couch, her arms wrapped around her shins, her knees drawn into her chest. Her mouth was a tight line. The blinds were shut, casting our living room into shadow. It seemed as though she were trying to draw into herself. To hide within the darkness. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She was six weeks pregnant with our first child."

 

From "Frequently Asked Questions About Staying Safe in South Korea," nonfiction by Anthony Huerta Velasquez:

"I awoke from a sonic boom thunderclap to see fresh contrails so close they streaked across the bedroom window of my high-rise apartment. A fighter jet? I didn’t know. Whatever it was had left only its long white traces in the blue sky between the coastal range and the sea. I saw that the traffic on Gwangan Bridge over Suyeong Bay was at a standstill while buses, sedans, taxis, and scooters raced amid incessant horn blasts on the thoroughfare below. Morning commute, business as usual. But on that day, something really unnerved me."

 

From "Killer Motivation," fiction by Corey Lynn Fayman:

"People always laugh when I tell them I’m a professional assassin. Like, at parties and stuff. They laugh and then ask, no, really, what do you do? I tell them, I get paid to kill people. They don’t laugh as much then. Usually they get kind of quiet and go talk to somebody else."

 

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