Rachel Swirsky holds an MFA from the Iowa Writers Workshop where she, a California native, learned about both writing and snow. She recently traded the snow for the rain of Portland, Oregon, where she roams happily under overcast skies with the hipsters. Her fiction has appeared in venues including Tor.com, Asimov's Magazine, and The Year's Best Non-Required Reading. She's published two collections: Through the Drowsy Dark (Aqueduct Press) and How the World Became Quiet (Subterranean Press). Her fiction has been nominated for the Hugo Award and the World Fantasy Award, and twice won the Nebula.
Oh! Abigail! Oh. It’s good—it’s so good to see you. Mom. Hi. You look so much like you. I feel like I could reach out and touch your face. Your face! It’s so good to see your face. Yeah, you too. It’s so good. It’s, oh, I just don’t—Abigail, I don’t know what to say. […]
My name is Domei. I think I am fourteen. I will probably die today. If not, I will probably die tomorrow. When it happens, I don’t think I’ll be surprised. Frightened, maybe, but not surprised. In the forest, scales are most common. If they cut you, the cut will never stop bleeding. If you step […]
When Norbu was a child, his mother Jamyang told him an old Tibetan story about an industrious but foolish troop of monkeys that lived in a forest near a well. One dusty night, a monkey elder woke thirsty. He crept away from his sleeping mate and went to the well for a drink. Inside, he […]