fiction

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The sexpat (part one)

Setting out to visit every massage parlour in China

THIS SHORT STORY ORIGINALLY APPEARED ON ISHAM COOK’S BLOG

 

A red neon sign so far in the distance it could be a firefly. I too am a fly and it pulls me irresistibly toward it, for it is in the shape of a suspected character, and like most shop signs that consist of a single character, it is probably zu, meaning “foot.” While zu might resemble a standing or crouching man, the upper square being his head, the image is in fact thought to have originally depicted a footprint.

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Migrant with the Machine Gun Arm

Ping pong diplomacy – a short story by Aaron Fox-Lerner

THIS STORY ORIGINALLY APPEARED ON CONCRETE FLUX

 

The first time I saw Fang Zheng, he was destroying a park full of old men. One after the other they would step up, and he'd humiliate them all in turn. He didn't play down or patronise them. He never slowed his speed. They'd all watch as he dispatched them as fast as possible, cutting them down with rapid fire arm strokes.

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New Home

A short story, by Katrina Hamlin

THIS STORY ORIGINALLY APPEARED IN H.A.L. PUBLISHING

 

The small blond girl opens the door, and steps out onto the landing. She drags a big suitcase with broken handles. She’s late.

A Chinese man – timid stance, mid-50s – is standing at the top of the stairs.

He is shocked to see a small blond girl on the landing. He spills a “Hello” before he can stop himself.

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The Broken Comb

A new short story from Shanghai

THIS STORY ORIGINALLY APPEARED IN H.A.L. PUBLISHING

 

I live alone, apart from the cockroaches. My room is on the ground floor, down a lane. The house is as old as the People’s Republic. Damp is climbing up the walls, and the paint is peeling. I lock up my bicycle outside. At night, someone tucks it in under a blue tarpaulin. I have never seen who does this.

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