The gauze bandage had come off in his sleep, and he touched a bare patch of warm skin and the tight line of ten stitc…
New Nonfiction by J. Malcolm Garcia: And This Is No Matter What
The temperature on this Tuesday morning in Grants Pass, Oregon, is edging up to ninety degrees as Helen Cruz and Just…
New Fiction by J. Malcolm Garcia: “An Arrangement”
I escaped to America after my fiancé, Farhid, died. He was an officer in the Afghan National Army in Bagarm when he w…
New Nonfiction from J. Malcolm Garcia: “Othello Avenue”
In the cold autumn dawn shadows blanket Othello Avenue, the parked cars and vans little more than gauzy, damp lumps, …
New Fiction from J. Malcolm Garcia: “Viraj”
Viraj sat in a room behind the motel reception counter, eating a bowl of bhaat with his fingers when the desk bell ch…
New Fiction from J. Malcolm Garcia: “Love Engagement”
Noor and his wife Damsa moved to Paris when the Russians invaded Afghanistan in 1979. Twenty-two years later, after t…
New Nonfiction from J. Malcolm Garcia: “Alabama Village”
(Editor’s Note: Some names have been changed for privacy.) The three white, rectangular buildings of Light of t…
New Nonfiction from J. Malcolm Garcia: “The Forced Disappearance of Sombath Somphone”
Ng Shui Meng speaks of her husband Sombath Somphone in the present tense, with a firm matter-of-fact tone about his d…