Stories by Rachel Hoffman
"I had just come from presenting a portrait I made for a series of visual and audio profiles of survivors of sexual assault. I presented the piece to the survivor and her immediate family. They said they liked it."
Sometimes you need a wake-up call to remember what's really important.
College is a time of transition for everyone. But for those transitioning to another gender, the process is a little more complicated.
Sorority brings together students to discuss immigration and rights at NU and nationally.
Centro Romero helps Latina women in Chicago deal with the harsh realities of domestic violence.
“Fuck yourself up the ass with the slushy machine!”
Little momma, strut on by. / And wave with your body every last goodbye
How the Pie Hole Pizza Joint in Boystown became a haven for minority LGBT youth on the North Side.
"Crouched between the knotted roots, clenching the damp dark soil in each paw."
"Crying all night till the sun gon’ rise, / whimper and a holler till the cows come home, / sitting in the straw pile all alone."
I suddenly thought how ironic to develop alcoholism whilst not only at home for the summer as opposed to college, at a bubbling family affair no less.
Chicago Pie Hole provides pizza and a place for minority LGBT youth to hang out.
It's like when my phone rings / With the hum of your voice / And I listen and laugh / To the sounds of my own gagging.
"So cherish your siblings, ladies and gents. You may even need to con one of them into giving you a kidney someday."
"They hum to the hushed / Conversation taking place / At the train station."
The fall of a bird leads to an intense emotional journey of the imagination.
A tense story about a psychologist's appointment with a snarky patient.
One story. Two points of view. A grandfather and a little girl talk boats and marigolds.
The sun beat down my back till / I tanned like stretched leather strips. / A swinging, naked belt display in / A shop window.
A caveman and his pet dinosaur are hanging out with a Barbie-type figure outside Tiffany's. WTF.
She hears shadowed iron sound/ Echo in the hollow / Of a tree.
Running / Breathless, hurry / From that charred / And blazing cross--
He had tied the different arms, legs and heads of the creatures together with pipe-cleaners and ribbon, roughly in the shape of a turkey and poured a generous sprinkling of red glitter on top.
How I savored that shrill- / Voiced excuse echoing in our / Bedroom but it was of / No use; it wouldn’t do.
Plasticize, factory-sized. / Cold breath seeps deep, cools / The frantic motion of gears and wheels / And grinding circuitry.
Muted burning headlights / Of tin can travelers / Forcing themselves through / A velveteen time of day.
Who ever said always “acting your age” was progressive or beneficial?
Rand's cover leads to a world shrouded in melancholy.
This aspirant novelist finds something resonant and universal in Chabon's earnest theatrics.
A reflection on past Passovers and a recipe that will have everyone in the family suffering from high blood pressure.
I'm just a bent metal beast charging through the station at Davis Street.
Rose, your life is but a simple one. You basking in the sun.