Six Shorts 2017

the American writer Kathleen Alcott

She had heard a great deal about the evils of modern technology, how its solutions were too focused on the individual, but Alice, for one, felt thankful for a world that let her stay exactly where she needed to be.

When Alice woke, she could not remember the routine she was meant to follow, was unsure what the necessary steps for reacquainting herself with the world might be – did she need food, or a shower, or an in-person conversation with someone who claimed to know her?

What is it you think I am? What is it you think I’ve done to it? You ran after it but you won’t take it?” She kept rocking onto her front foot, bending then straightening her arm to offer then withdraw the hat. “I’m so impure that you can’t accept something I’ve saved for you? It would be better if it had flown into the East River? I’m so evil that I do not count as human? I am Alice. I am Alice Niemand, and I saved this fucking hat because I believed it would matter to you.” She had never heard vitriol in her own voice, never issued anything close to a speech, never admitted to hate, never let it exist outside the hours she mulled it over alone in bed. Alice was a woman who met deadlines, nodded when addressed, favoured solid colours, held doors for the elderly, relinquished her seat to the pregnant, allowed the men she slept with to adjust her however they wanted.

A half an hour later, Alice was down by the water, resigned to the parts of the boy’s life she had not been able to see. The scent of the East River was never restorative – it smelled more like something fermenting, turning over and over in the sweat of not getting anywhere. Still, it was better sitting on this bench, in view of the rotting, mossy piles, than weaving through the mass of people who belonged to each other

because she could not determine the correct reply to these emails she did not respond at all.

her town there had been Christmas pageants at her parents’ Lutheran church, pancake feeds to support the fire department each fall, spring carnivals where one-hit wonders performed to a slumped drunk audience, but these had been traditions that asked nothing of her. She had slipped out of that town as easily as a hand from a pocket. Her mother and father had been the only family she’d known, and they too had required little of Alice, had somehow failed to create an ineluctable bond or even a few private jokes that could be leaned on when necessary.

March in New York was confused – a bleached blue sky, a corrosive wind – and it felt to her not like a certain season, but the weather’s selfish refusal to decide on one

writers and editors:

Many of you may recall working on pieces for Dov Weberman, who purchased a package of 40 bios. Recently, a young man from Weberman’s orthodox community in Brooklyn, NY, took his own life after his accusations of sexual abuse by Weberman resulted in threats to him and his family. Weberman was never charged and thus screened as an approved client. I feel that something should change about the way we filter customers, and I wonder if we might all put our heads together and discuss a solution. Thanks in advance for putting some time towards this important issue.

All my best,

Alice N

CommunityBoard: AirCommunications

Re: Re-evaluating our Standards

Author: EliseR

12:13:12pm EST

That is so sad. I have been working as a writer for six months and have wondered the same thing on a couple occasions – could the company maybe turn down people with pending accusations against them, or implement a waiting period to see whether the accusations have been substantiated?

slightly odd reason.