by Nadya Mercik | Jul 26, 2024 | Reviews
We choose what makes us, what defines us. But it is never an easy selection. Not when the transitions we make in life are painful or marred. What does it mean to define yourself as a refugee? A Somali? How do you untangle a web of multiple belongings and difficult pasts? In this profound, personal and illuminating story, Aamna Mohdin talks about her own journey, her country and its scattered pieces that were shot across the globe by the war and crisis.
by Nadya Mercik | Jun 7, 2024 | news
Short story publication in “Utopia of Us” My story was selected for the anthology “Utopia Of Us” published by Luna Press Publishing. It was launched last weekend on the 1st of June – the perfect start of the summer season – at...
by Nadya Mercik | May 30, 2024 | Flash Fiction
I brush the non-existing dust off the skirt of my pink tulle dress and scratch my left wrist. My small, glittering shoe finally crosses the line. The scanner in the floor reads my approach and the tall doors of riveted, lacquered wood spread open. I enter the Hall of Fathers.
by Nadya Mercik | Apr 30, 2024 | Flash Fiction
I arrive in the street cramped with huge lit signs of various shops and restaurants. There is a wrapper stuck to the sole of my trekking boot already. My shoulders ache – the trip from the airport included a lot of walking. A smell of hot bibimbap comes from the nearest door, enticing me to go in, take off my backpack – which is heavy with everything I own – and order a bottle of soju on top of everything.
by Nadya Mercik | Mar 20, 2024 | Flash Fiction
I feel it before I manage to see it and almost drop the coffee cup into the sink. I could nearly mistake it for the scald of the too hot water if it didn’t run up my forearm instead of down. It is rather precise as well, like tiny piranhas biting their way along the thin paths, very artistically. And when I look down – there it is. Or better say isn’t. Parts of my tattoo gone, vanished without a trace.
