Fiction | December 01, 2006
An Art
Stormy Stipe
This story is currently not available online.
“We’ll hide here,” my sister Helen said, and pulled me onto a bed of pine straw under the fence at the edge of the ditch. We watched my mother drive slowly through the puddles of our driveway. … My older brother, Hal, had smeared ketchup on the floor of the front room, smudged a wad of his own dark hair and several strands of my sister’s along the edges, and run out the back door. He was hiding in the tractor-shed yard.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?
Subscribe TodaySEE THE ISSUE
SUGGESTED CONTENT
Fiction
Aug 19 2021
The Body Was There
The Body Was There Shakarean Hutchinson Six months later she was pregnant. The curves of her hips opened up; her breast grew heavy. The blue cotton dress, the dye fading… read more
Fiction
Aug 19 2021
The Burial
The Burial Samantha Xiao Cody In the days after Mr. Huang was arrested for killing his son, we began seeing the dog everywhere. The Huang house was swarmed with reporters… read more
Fiction
Aug 19 2021
Heart-Scalded
Heart-Scalded Daphne Kalotay for Jude Twilight’s hazy glow, the world covered in gray lint. Viv hailed a ride and set out toward the crumbling edge of town. Though it… read more