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Print Editions Thursday September 28th, 2023

Post- Magazine Narrative

red cover (narrative)

red cover [narrative]

As I cast one final glance around my room, disappointment seeps into my heart. The unfulfilled part of me is saddened to feel nothing more than a single, temporary drop in my chest when thinking about moving away. It’s hard to miss something that has already been tainted by the notion of change, such ...

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first year blues [narrative]

At the beginning, it was good. It was exciting to be around so many new people, so many of them interesting, passionate, and unfailingly kind. Campus was beautiful, the sun casting its golden glow on the old brick buildings, the grass bright and wet, the ancient towering trees scattering shadows like ...




object impermanence

object impermanence [narrative]

In seventh grade, we had a long-term substitute teacher for social studies because our teacher had fallen down the stairs. Besides his need to remind us he wasn’t strict (he was “just preparing us for the real world”), I only have one memory from his time as my teacher: He made me cry. No—he ...


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ex no ex no [narrative]

The last time I was supposed to write for post-, I got dumped. Just as I was about to start my piece, my world shattered, the future I imagined for myself came crumbling down, and the person I thought was the love of my life no longer wished to be in mine at all. Thoughts of writing or school work were ...

Latest stories

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Post- Magazine

in pursuit of awe [narrative]

To wonder is to admire the inexplicable, to notice a rare delight; it is to allow one’s curiosity to take a meander and prod at something surprising. Lately, I have begun to collect small moments of wonder. I pluck them from this soft world as if I was born to do it—to look and listen and be filled ...


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Post- Magazine

a river flowing endlessly [narrative]

The tiny European car parked outside the window of Babu’s cafe in Zürich has a few droplets of water on the rear windshield. The people come and go around me, on and off like the intermittent rain. They move, and I sit. A few of them are coming into the cafe, maybe even to sit by the window with ...


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Post- Magazine

secrets [narrative]

Here the stars are bright and begging, like pennies at the bottom of a well. Here the trees are green, even in the heart of winter, for here the winter does not exist. Here I feel hidden, tucked away into a pocket of the night. We are so far from the city, from the lights, from the highway. It is the ...


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Post- Magazine

a dictionary of obscure joys [narrative]

Here are some words. Some are fabricated from words in different languages, some are molded from combinations of words long dead, and some are words that already exist to which I have given new meaning. Some are words that were reaching out with tantalizing fingertips, begging to be rescued from dusty ...


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Post- Magazine

apple sharlotka [narrative]

Trees in Rhode Island stand tall and thin, reaching toward the deep-blue sky with their spindly branches. From the window of a train speeding from Providence to Boston, I watch them stretch, toward the clouds, toward each other, standing proud and bare in the icy earth. On the CalTrain from my hometown ...


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Post- Magazine

shield me [narrative]

My mother used to give my sister and me glass hearts. The ritual was based on the book The Kissing Hand—the story of Chester Raccoon, who is terrified to start kindergarten. Throughout the story, his mother reassures him of the wonderful things he will discover at school, like friends, toys, and books. ...


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Post- Magazine

identity theft [narrative]

We are born into clumsy bodies. We flail around with fat fingers as we learn to make sense of the fuzzy shapes around us, and to assert important truths like “ba” and “ga.” As we grow, we are given a fuller set of words to wrap our hands around, including words that are supposed to describe ...


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Post- Magazine

and the eyes are hers [narrative]

When the lights come on, there is a single spotlight, trained on the center of the stage. The actress is there, basking, lounging in the glow. Her legs dangle off the edge of the piano, willfully uncrossed. Her hair is piled high atop her head into a mount of carefully aligned curls. She wears a fitted ...


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Post- Magazine

new leaves despite it all [narrative]

There are the ones I left in a drafty room over a frigid New England December, only to come back from sun-baked California to their slouching, frozen corpses. The countless overwatered succulents, the root-bound vines, the pothos I just couldn’t make happy. The ones left forgotten, unwatered on my ...


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