Creative Nonfiction Archives

NOTHING CAN BE DONE by Pham Thu Trang

March 10, 2026 · Creative Nonfiction

The singing starts before dawn. Four or five in the morning, when the alley is still dark and narrow and holding its breath. The houses face each other across a strip of concrete barely wide enough for two motorbikes to pass without touching. Sound has nowhere to go here. It hits walls and comes back. She throws her doors open and sings. She is about twenty, maybe. I know she has a neurological condition—people say it quietly, with the tone that means explanation and permission at the same time. We have spoken before, in small ways—offering snacks, simple questions, asking…

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WITNESS by Katherine Shehadeh

February 18, 2026 · Creative Nonfiction

Mustawteneen. Every summer I visit Palestine, I learn new words. Some force their way to the forefront, defining the summer the way “songs of the summer” take hold of collective consciousness in America. Wanting to put this summer’s defining words to paper while the ordeal is raw, I’ve moved outside to an overlooked corner of the home abutting an olive grove. Someone hammers at the metal shop across the street. It’s windy and hot, a typical August in Palestine. We’ve been in Silwad, a hillside village with a respectably-sized population of about 6,000, for four days. Our first morning in,…

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BLOND CANYON by Ariel McCleese

January 7, 2026 · Creative Nonfiction

It happened in four parts: 1. Driving on the 134, a whirlpool of leaves in the fast lane. Languid, suspension of air and oaks. 100 Animals! sound book shrill in the backseat. Mommy! Guess! A tapir? Lying in the lukewarm pool of the Los Angeles Zoo. Its heat radiant. Ladybug? A series of noises chosen at random, a constellation of voiceover sounds. A friend demonstrated once. The way she recorded Target commercials from her coat closet. Toucan? How does the color of its beak translate sonically? Mommy! Guess! Should I have taken her to school today? The car buffeting back…

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SWALLOW by Hannah Grieco

September 2, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

The pharmacist has to get the key, which is missing for the moment. The tech apologizes. It was hanging by the fridge in the back, just yesterday. He’s not sure where it went, but the pharmacist will find it as soon she finishes filling the Lithium prescription. “Just the 300 mg, right? You guys are pausing the 150s?” Yes, 300 mgs. Once in the morning and twice at night. We’re moving down from the larger dose, but if I say, “Yes, we’re going down in the dose permanently, I hope,” if I say, “So far we’re doing pretty well,” if…

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THE SYMMETRIES by Marshall Moore

August 27, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

A spider took up residence in my conservatory several months ago. It’s not enormous, half an inch in diameter, but I hate spiders. Winter loomed. Those were days of dread. A seasonal terror gnaws at people who live at northern latitudes as the sun sets incrementally sooner. Here in Cornwall, the exact time of sunset means little when clouds and rain can make it night-ish at three. Having a spider suspended overhead by the door, just over my clothes-drying rack, doesn’t help when my insides are already chewing themselves up over the darkness to come. My partner doesn’t hate spiders,…

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BIG STEVE HID WATER BOTTLES OF PISS BENEATH HIS BED by Matti Ben-Lev

August 4, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

He was used to being homeless. He was used to sleeping in his car in Philly parking lots. Once, he picked up a Tinder date, drove her 3 hours from Baltimore to Philly, rode around looking for his ex-girlfriend, didn’t find her, and only told his date the truth about his ex and why they drove to Philly on the car ride back. I don’t remember how she responded, but I think they went out a few more times. Big Steve unrolled cigarettes, made a bong out of a water bottle and a pen, hit tobacco out the window of…

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THE VIEW FROM BETHLEHEM by Robbie Maakestad

June 23, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

Israel Defense Force (IDF) Soldier: “What the fuck are you doing?” Banksy: “You’ll have to wait until it’s finished.” IDF Soldier (to subordinates): “Safeties off!” —Banksy’s account of painting the West Bank wall, 2005 Blue and white guard rails shepherded us from a bus stop toward the low, sprawling Checkpoint 300 gate complex outside of Bethlehem where my friend and I planned to cross from Israel on foot into the West Bank. The imposing concrete West Bank wall stretched endlessly in both directions, reminding me of photos I’d seen of the Berlin Wall, although at 26 feet high, this…

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CRUISE STORY by Aristotelis Nikolas Mochloulis

June 4, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

I was awake in what felt like an instant, a ray of sunlight splitting my head in half. Mom out of sight, I showered, redressed, packed my wet sheets into a bag, began to panic, and called her to see if I had it in me to tell her what was going on. In the few seconds between her picking up and my coldly replying, Where are you? I decided to give myself the benefit of the doubt until the second test. Outside the laundromat, I studied the manual, slid the swab deep into my nostrils, its tip into the…

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FALLOUT by Marta Regn

May 21, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

Every weekend we begged our mothers to drive us to the mall, to leave us at the arched entrance by the Red Robin, and not to look back. We pooled our money. Birthdays, summer chores, quarters from fluorescent plastic Easter eggs. We bought T-shirts emblazoned with the names of bands and bracelets shaped like penises, breasts, middle fingers. We wore our contraband to school under our jackets and swapped shirts while waiting for the buses. No other kids recognized the faces spread across our chests, and we liked it that way. When we stared at our navels, we tugged our…

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THE COMPULSIVE ON MOTHER EATING by Chel Campbell

April 23, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

I have hurt my child by accident, banging his fine-haired head on open car doors or slipping down the stairs, purpling my spent body to shield his from impact. I used to be able to nurse the hurt away, both of us grateful for the easy relief. My inner voice says I am never glad when an accident happens. Another voice says I want to hurt my child on purpose. Those are the days when I am afraid to love my child, as if my love could eat him. My therapist says the past-abused often feel terrified that they or…

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