by Oleksiy Chupa
Translated from the Ukrainian by Zenia Tompkins
These days no one would even remember who Gerhardt Frei was. Yet, some sixty-odd years ago, this name ended up at the center of most kitchen table conversations throughout the city. After the final rout of the Third Reich, he, along with thousands of other German POWs, was sent here, to our part of Eastern Ukraine, for construction work. Frei was taken prisoner all the way out in the suburbs of Berlin.
Read Moreby Serhiy Zhadan
Translated from the Ukrainian by Hanna Leliv and Isaac Stackhouse Wheeler
The story I’m about to tell could’ve only happened at Christmas time. It has all the traditional elements of a Christmas story: the Magi, the messengers, the angels singing in a pomegranate-red December sky, and a sense of mystery living inside every one of us. If you listen carefully, this story will, if anything, seem to imply that mystery in its pristine form always exists somewhere around us. All you have to do is stop acting like you’re above it all and try to feel its presence.
Read Moreby Andriy Lyubka
Translated from the Ukrainian by Reilly Costigan-Humes and Isaac Stackhouse Wheeler
From the outside, his building looked absolutely ordinary. The old, two-story stone structure had been divided into four apartments. His was on the first floor of the right wing. The neighbors didn’t exactly know what he did all day. Perhaps they noticed that he only left the building on rare occasions and almost never in the morning, which meant he didn’t work or worked from home.
Read Moreby Tanja Maljartschuk
Translated from the Ukrainian by Zenia Tompkins
A certain man lived up to age 33 in peace and harmony. He had a job, he had a family, he had relatives and acquaintances. He had two good friends with whom he met up once a month. Together they would put back four mugs of beer each, they’d talk over their jobs, families, relatives and acquaintances, then would part ways, happy and tipsy, to their respective homes to sleep.
Read Moreby Kateryna Babkina
Translated from the Ukrainian by Hanna Leliv
I bought those photographs – the entire album – for 70 euros at Place du Jeu de Balle in Brussels. Roma always said I didn’t know the value of money, and he was probably right. I don’t like flea markets; I prefer new, nice stuff. Roma’s the complete opposite, though.
Read Moreby Isabel Anreus
Eddy’s beat-up Converses are resting against the wheel of the car and his eyes are staring at the worn interior vinyl ceiling. The time on the dashboard reads 12:15 pm. He’s late, typical. The old priest wanted Eddy to pick him up at 12:00 pm sharp.
Read Moreby Ian Robinson
James Farley worked on the railways. He was a plate layer, and he would go out with others like him, and a Permanent Way Inspector to keep the track and land around it in working order. His job mostly involved muscle work, low-level engineering; it was the Inspector who did all of the paperwork.
Read Moreby Danica Borisavljevic
First, second, third, I just started and I’m already upset by numbers that always go in perfect order, she didn’t come today, she didn't come yesterday, but yesterday I caught a glimpse of her in a ray of sunshine dancing in a glass of water, today there is no sun and there is no her...
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