Dear Readers,
This month we will be highlighting new Nonfiction from our Fall issue. Click the underlined titles to read the pieces in full:
Then, one day, they were gone. I could no longer physically continue being a soldier and was put out to pasture. The uniforms, ribbons, and medals are now stored away in monochrome boxes. They are foreign to the world in which I now exist; in this chapter of my life, so dull and so passionless, there is no color. I have no reason to get out of bed, to dress myself, or even to talk. —I Played Army by Tanya Whitney
Rock and roll music blasted from his living room. An array of hard liquor lined the kitchen counter, not beer as at our junior officers’ parties. He introduced us to his wife and told my date that she was far too pretty to be hanging around with a guy like me. —Flying Through Water by Larry Duthie
Within a month of starting this civilian job, Veterans Day arrived, and I was featured in one of the company’s articles. The rest of my colleagues, not just my small editorial team, suddenly realized I had a life unlike theirs before joining the company. —The Question by Nina Semczuk
I don’t like sleeping in a bra. But after an attack in early December, I started to sleep in a sports bra, a spice brown t-shirt, and bikini-style underwear. Next to my twin bed was a nightstand and next to the nightstand was a sand-colored folding chair left by the NCO who occupied the room before me. —Waste by Katie Witt
A folder bearing your name lies on the center of the table. A blue pen keeps the edges of manila from touching and I instinctively scan for signature blocks. I robotically sign my name. It’s impersonal, like when I was deployed to combat zones before I met you. —One More Betrayal by Francisco Martínezcuello
Following the attacks on September 11, 2001, I knew that I wanted to serve my country, like so many others. I also did it for my city. I still remember walking through the streets, large plumes of black and gray smoke flying overhead. —The Soul of Old Glory by Ryan Graham
When we arrived, I walked into the break room to grab a cup of cheap Folgers coffee. A whiff of jalapeno popcorn from the molded Cuisinart cleared my sinuses. The coffee was terrible as always, but you don’t have enough cognitive energy to be critical about taste when you’re working from midnight to 8AM. Plus the caffeine did its job. —A Choir of Crickets by Samuel Nahins
When he saw me, Fred shouted to start CPR. We alternated— me pushing on the chest, him breathing into the mouth—but after a few moments, we realized our efforts were futile; the airway was blocked.—Marks by Michael Felkner
Thank you for reading.