Fiction

I’m able to do it now, but it was a long time before I could think about my father’s illness and death. For nearly four years, I spent so much time and energy keeping those feelings of loss and pain on the periphery of my mind, not allowing them to break through or interfere with my day-to-day routine. I tried as hard as I could to distract myself...

Dad and I do freewrites and read out loud to each other each morning and eat big salads for lunch. The stories we produce are a new and delightful treasure. My last one went unshared — we were too hungry for me to read. It was about the vast ideological differences between two brothers. His was about his lifelong stand to protect our beachfront...

Although the events in this story took place some time ago, the heart still wants what the heart wants, so in the history of passion, nothing has changed.

Zephyr Rafferty snapped a six-foot switch in two across his knee and threw one half of it across the barnyard. His ancient mutt Misty got up with a hitch in her gait, loped, then attempted a leap in the air. She missed it by a few feet and landed less than gracefully.

Bevel staked a claim to his customary spot on the platform by placing his right penny loafer on the “W” of the Watch-the-Gap sign because that’s where the train door always landed. He’d be the first to board the lead “quiet” car, and sure to get his regular window seat on the sunny side, facing backwards in case of sudden stops.
The Star welcomes submissions of essays for its “Guestwords” column, of between 700 and 1,200 words, and of short fiction or memoir, of up to 2,000 words. Please send submissions for review by email, in text or Word format, to submissions@ehstar.com.

It happened most recently when she bought a round of drinks for six people who claimed they knew the owner. “It’s our pleasure,” Jasmine announced, setting down each martini and backing away with a flourish of the hand. She felt powerful, endorphins surging. There was no better feeling than riding out a good instinct. Except she hadn’t cleared it...

One summer in Montauk I met a really nice kid named Ryan. We were instant best friends. He was an awkward, gangly guy. At the age of 12 or 13 he was already over six feet tall. He could hardly keep up with his body.

Click here for part one of "Hamptons Hearthrob." Or start reading part two: Laney felt like hanging herself with one of the scarves in the pricey boutique at the polo field after she saw that she had left streaks of Red-Hot Hamptons...