Fiction

Red Wine, With a Hint of Shoe, Journal of Microliterature, Forthcoming April 2014.

It happened again over dinner: two glasses of Slovenian wine made me bilingual…

The Anatomy of Sound, And Then the Guy Got Up and Left, October 2013.  Honorable Mention, Prose Fiction Category.

It was not, in the end, the sound of bombs that woke Danijela from sleep. She understood, at this point, the anatomy of sound…

The Last Will and Testament of Alen KopitarAnd Then the Guy Got Up and Left, October 2013.

The last will and testament of Alen Kopitar, family patriarch reads as follows: I, Alen Kopitar, hereby write that this document is my last will and testament, and that Joško, my most trusted confidant, is the executor of said will…

Providence, Montreal Review, January 2012.

“I’ve never liked Providence,” he said. She hadn’t noticed the river walkers before. There was an old man, hat too far over one ear…

In the Desert, Eastown Fiction, November 2010

From the editors: “Kristina Zdravič Reardon’s ‘In the Desert’ reads like an evocative polaroid of an archeologist’s state of mind as he contemplates his life’s work in the deserts of Egypt. Purposely leaving her piece absent of dialogue and plot-fueled action, Reardon plays the part of “omnipotent narrator,” delving into her sole character’s philosophic musings in order to comment on the sometimes dualistic and paradoxical nature of the universe and human relationships. Reardon’s tone is both reflective and melancholy, properly coinciding with the feelings of distance, isolation and self-discovery that a desert landscape presents to anyone who dares to tread its ancient terrain.”

A Bit of Kindess; Easter 1941, Newport Review, Summer 2009

You awaken to the soft sound of a scream from two floors down, your mother on the telephone, mouthing no. I watch as you turn your head, still full of sleepy velvet, over the side of your pillow and cradle your cheeks in your hands, sliding your fingers slowly down and up like a peaceful ocean wave that tucks and returns…

Bombs, The Alembic, 2008

What Mama didn’t understand was that we didn’t have to leave Titograd, That’s what I told my cousin Marko right after we came to the U.S.A., when I was five…

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