It only mattered that I was beautiful.

My little sister sits on the bed paging through a glossy magazine full of shiny pink lips. “You’re not really going to go see him, are you?” she asks.

He wanted to free her by paying a bride price.

THE AFGHAN GIRL BY C ROTHSCHILD 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 90

At 47 Lars had married the 18-year-old Miriam, the beggar girl from Afghanistan. And in order to marry her he had converted to a Muslim, wearing a golden chain with the Muslim star. What on earth did he think? That they could be happy together?

He stares out to sea, wraps his arms around himself, it’s all so simple.

PARTING TOUCHES BY MARK JONES 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 90

He pulls out the WILL, flaps it against the palm of his hand. The red ribbon unravels and flutters away. Harry grabs for it. The ribbon coils lazily in the air, falls to the water, tangles on a dead fish floating belly up.

Live every waking moment as miserable myth.

TIMEBOMBING BY MARIGO STATHIS 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 90

You think you don’t wear it/ on gilded sleeve,/ yet you do/ live every waking moment/ as miserable myth,/ pretentious parable.

I am allowed to look to 

my future with eager eyes.

And no, this is not my newest Manifesto Advocating for the Loss of Childhood Innocence.

SILLINESS BY CAMILLE GITOW 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 90

Listen to the surf. I could lie here, lie here with you forever.

STARTING AGAIN BY LINDSAY SMITH 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 89

Do you think we could do things together always? I mean, like we could be these archaeologists sifting the sand for the remains of ancient civilisations, and together all the time, sharing everything.

All the girls knew your 

Asian putz was smaller.

HALF-FOOT HEROES BY BEN UMAYAM  34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 87

At the age of 13, a typical pubescent Filipino boy, I was obsessed with my inadequacy in the penis department. I was taught the Asian Myth. Asians have minuscule members. The other guys and all the girls knew your Asian putz was smaller.

You wore my hat and laughed as 

we walked home hand in hand.

LOVE AND PHILODENDRON BY PATRICK SEAMAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 83

Do you remember when we would go fishing together? It was a quick walk down to the little creek that ran through your father’s backyard. We would kick off our shoes and ball our socks into our pockets and feel which rocks were the slimiest and search for crayfish with our toes. I remember you wore my hat and laughed as we walked home hand in hand and I told you to keep it and you did.

Everything, she thought, is 

an accident of where you are.

STEALING HOME BY KAY BONTEMPO 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 78

Two bell peppers, Muenster cheese. Cauliflower, a pack of Newports, Tampax. Martinelli’s apple juice. Paper towels two-ply. English Breakfast tea. Boil-in-a-bag rice, paper clips, ramen noodles. Maybe some ice cream if there was money left over. America’s Choice vanilla, eaten straight from the carton. It wouldn’t be bad. With an uncomfortable pop, he pulled out of her and lay beside her, breathing hard. It was 11.52pm. She wondered if the Shop’n’Save would even be open.