Three Very Sad Homos by Shastri Akella

My Favorite Elvis The boy and the dog were both named Elvis. Whenever Daddy hollered “Elvis” they both came to him. Even when it was one of them he wanted: the boy for a chore, the dog for a…
My Favorite Elvis The boy and the dog were both named Elvis. Whenever Daddy hollered “Elvis” they both came to him. Even when it was one of them he wanted: the boy for a chore, the dog for a…
CRAFT is thrilled to welcome Alan Heathcock as guest judge for our 2022 Short Fiction Prize. Heathcock is the author of Volt, a collection of short stories from 2011, and 40, a debut novel that publishes on August 2,…
Each year we are privileged to be able to nominate work for anthologies and awards including Best of the Net, Best Microfiction, Best Small Fictions, the PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers (Best Debut Short Stories), and…
By Katy Scarlett • In 1979, Rosalind Krauss published her now-famous essay “Sculpture in the Expanded Field,” which explored how new forms of three-dimensional art-making borrowed from sculpture, monument, architecture, interior and landscape design. She writes, “as the 1960s began…
Content Warnings—cesarean section, traumatic birth I could not milk. Was it due to upset levels of oxytocin, prolactin, beta-endorphin? May have been the morphine pump I kept firing like a trigger from my hospital bed in the postlabor/delivery room.…
Elvia Wilk’s nonfiction debut, Death by Landscape (out July 19, 2022, via Soft Skull Press), investigates how we might displace human-centered narratives. Through literary immersion, research into spectral encounters and virtual reality, reflections on her own physicality, and first-person…
In The Witch Hare, a witch’s familiar—a curious young hare—goes on a globe-hopping journey to help her sad companion learn to live life to the fullest again. As the hare ventures out to seek adventure, she shows the witch…
In Hollows, Tommy Dean’s first full-length flash fiction collection, the narrative lens captures everyday humans at a pivotal moment, where one decision will change everything. Three boys enter the woods carrying a gun. A divorced teacher borrows money from…
The nature center has five baby sea turtles, each in their own 20-gallon saltwater tank. When I see them for the first time, I have to fight the impulse to plunge my hand into the water and scoop one…
Content Warnings—death by suicide, gun violence One morning a science teacher at the high school found the window of his lab smashed and a dead possum on the floor. In my memory, the teacher is all gray: gray pants…
“The Stoics” is an excerpt from Protocol (working title), a memoir about Black survival and Black success in the postintegration South. The narrative pivots on my mother’s death by suicide in 1992, nearly thirty years after the passage of the Civil Rights Bill. In those thirty years, my father, a professor of chemistry, and my mother, an office coordinator, met at Tougaloo College in Jackson, Mississippi, a hotbed of Civil Rights activism regularly visited by the likes of Medgar Evers and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. My parents married and settled in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, in the mid-1970s—a largely white, middle-class community with high property taxes and excellent public schools—in the hopes their children would be spared the vicious brand of racism they had known in Mississippi. “Achievement” was reduced to a simple formula: I had only to excel and make them proud. They would make possible anything I wanted to do or be as long as I held up my end of the deal.
None of us realized that my mother—even as she gushed with unfettered pride about her children—was being quietly consumed by an invisible illness. The year she succumbed at last to her depression, 1992, was, paradoxically, according to Joe Sean, a time when the suicide rate among African Americans in the United States appeared to be on the decline. A part of me believes my mother’s abandonment was an extreme intervention, her way of blowing a hole in the great American myth of meritocracy, so I would come into my womanhood with no illusions as to the struggle that lay ahead.
“The Stoics,” like much of Protocol, diffuses a single theme—in this case, the stigma around suicide loss—through memories intended to contextualize and nuance the central narrative. The narrative I chose to center in “The Stoics” was a comment I suspect many suicide survivors have heard from others or thought themselves: suicide is an act of cowardice, a personal failure, rather than the result of mental illness left untreated. By tying in related memories—the introduction of a firearm into our household, the trauma of racialized violence, and my father’s many strategies for protecting his family—and integrating research as well as the benefit of hindsight to reflect on the past, I aim to make something of a case study of my experience, a tool for exploring the how and why as well as the what. I hope this approach engages readers and allows the very personal genre of memoir to become a vehicle for a broader conversation about the social experiment known as integration and its unexpected legacy.
AMY EVANS is a writer and educator based in New York. Amy is an alumna of Hedgebrook Writers’ Residency, BRICLab Performing Arts Residency (2008 and 2015), 651 ARTS Artist Development Initiative, Kulturlabor Berlin Institute for Cultural Inquiry, Willapa Bay AiR Residency, Quest Writers’ Conference, and Interstate 73 Playwrights’ Group. Amy is currently developing a memoir, Protocol (working title), the title essay of which was joint winner of the 2020 Thornwillow Patrons’ Prize and published in October 2020. Find Amy on Instagram at @amyevans040924.