- Follow Eunoia Review on WordPress.com
Eunoia Review publishes on a daily basis, so it may take some time for your work to appear if there are several contributors scheduled ahead of you. At present, we have work scheduled to be published until 9 November 2020.
Note: Our site is best viewed in Chrome.
If you like what you're reading, why not click the buttons to share it with your friends?
- 967,462 views
- Nemo poëta eunoiareview.wordpress.com/2020/09/25/nem… 3 hours ago
- The New Dead eunoiareview.wordpress.com/2020/09/24/the… 15 hours ago
- claymation in six scenes eunoiareview.wordpress.com/2020/09/24/cla… 1 day ago
Tag Archives: Yash Seyedbagheri
The year I’m fourteen and my sister Nancy’s seventeen, Mom splits, and we rewrite The Sound of Music. The Sound of Music lied to us and we need vengeance. When we first saw The Sound of Music a few years … Continue reading
My sister Anya and I repurpose family movies. We add cynical endings but never kill characters. One real basement massacre, with power-hungry hitmen, is too much. We reboot The Sound of Music. New script makes the Captain a divorcé. Family … Continue reading
I go to movies, seat beside me smelling of emptiness and armpits. I try to yell quotes at the screen, but it’s pointless. No exchanging nicknames and secrets about favorite sex positions. Secret fondness for royalty and fairy tales. Now … Continue reading
Dad runs off with the Episcopal priest, Father Edgar. He’s tired of pretend, he says. Mom insists on dressing like June Cleaver, replete with pearls. Out go the jeans and turtlenecks, in come the lavender dresses. She says things were … Continue reading
Sister Nancy and I are running out of corpses. A mortuary needs steady supply. Some say it’s our lack of technology. Or we’re too Victorian in ambience. We like preparing the dead for the peace. Hearing stories of heroism and … Continue reading
I build a fortress out of snow on the driveway. With each pile heaved, I strive to block neighbors. They feign friendliness. Ask about my name. I’m a byproduct of the Midwest and the Middle East, by way of Idaho. … Continue reading
Sister Nancy and I play mailbox baseball. We fell boxes, hoard people’s secrets like Fabergé eggs. People hold lives worse than our own, among ruined beer bottles, runaway mothers who can’t be found. We hate illusions. Mailboxes hold credit card … Continue reading