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Tragedy strikes a newsroom in Kabul as a journalist scrambles for safety in Afghan Author D’s short story set during the Soviet-Afghan War. She opened the wardrobe, took out her skirt and suit jacket, and shut the doors. After getting dressed, she looked at herself in the three-piece mirror, brushed her hair, and looked again. She admired herself, she thought she looked really good. Her long hair touched her shoulders, shining as the afternoon sun caught it through the window....

Societal expectations weigh down on a mother returning from the hospital after having her eighth daughter in this story by Afghan Author A. It is past early afternoon. The evening call to prayer is still to come. I am hungry, but I am fasting. My legs are weak, my hands are shaking. There is a kind of silence in the kitchen, but the sound of the pressure cooker, which has just started, is breaking it, getting louder and more powerful. The pressure cooker has increased my fear too. I look...

—That makes exactly four kilos. When she heard these words a smile spread across her lips and she looked at her little son… The shopkeeper kept talking: —Sister, take this money…it’s eight rupees. Once again she reached out her hand from her chador and took the money handed over by the shopkeeper. In the afternoon sun, she set off in a hurry toward her home. She walked in haste and held her little son’s hand tightly.  Her grip was so firm...

It was late in the evening when he came home. His wife sat on the veranda in front of the house, and he approached their sick five-year-old son who was lying on a bed. He took off his shawl, and as he wiped his head and short beard clean, he asked her how everything was with Bari. His wife, close to tears, answered: —His fever is still high. He is very weak and has been lying there all day. He has no appetite either, I gave him soup a couple of times but he wouldn't eat it....

He was walking quickly through the alley. His eyes were wide open and he stared frantically straight in front of him. A group of people was tossing banana skins in the middle of the street. The walking man hurried past the skins, then suddenly slipped, and fell. The whole crowd started to laugh at him. Furious, the walking man got up. Wild with rage, he began cursing the laughing crowd, “Hey, look at all of you! Blood is flowing in our country and you’re laughing. You should...

Oh, I must have fallen asleep really late. This place is cramped, it is hard to breathe. Hold on, let me switch the lights on, how dark it is in here, and why am I having so much trouble breathing? Ouch! What did my head bump into, the roof of the house cannot have tumbled down on me, how could that be? Wait now, let me think a little, where am I and what is this place? Oh! It looks like someone is coming, as if he has brought a lantern with him. Wait now, it does not seem to be a...