Miss Kolkhoz by Lilli Luuk
Once, on the bus back home, a man sat behind me while another sat next to me. As the bus moved off, the one behind me threw his arms around me, forced his hands under my jacket straight to my breasts and pressed me hard against the back of the seat. The reek of vodka…
Accused of Murder by Maimu Berg
The taxi was already pulling up in front of the airport. I didn’t bother checking my ticket to see where exactly I was headed. Funny how a fall can scramble your wits. As he handed me the suitcase from the boot, the driver wished me a pleasant trip. ‘Which way are you flying?’ he asked.…
The Nightingale and the King by A.H. Tammsaare
‘What does the nightingale sing about?’ he asked. ‘Of love and of freedom, our most gracious majesty,’ his servants answered him, bowing to the ground.
The Fourth Dimension by Friedebert Tuglas
The firmament swells over my face as a silken fabric. Wherever my gaze delves, it rises like a gothic arch into the heights, a tentpole holding up the sloping periphery. Like a blue-green-white tent nave, it has been thrown high over my being.
Into the Silence by Brigitta Davidjants
Here I am again, in an apartment that reminds me of the home I once lived in, with the red patterns on the wall-carpets and the smell of fresh bread and coffee coming from the courtyard, and the noise that takes my thoughts to the earthquake. And in the main square, people flushed with victory.
Last Tango in Kyiv by Maarja Kangro
How do you think about someone on the front line, there like Schrödinger’s cat, always having to be prepared to hear that they are actually already dead? Or with the stubborn, inevitable hope that nothing will happen?
