FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
Ever since your son brought you here, things have been different. He was crying when he dropped you off. You still don’t know why.
The day does not conclude with the gentle exhale of the earth, but with Mother Superior flipping the hourglass over, again.
You’re joking, I say, interrupting the steady bumping of the doctor’s bushy white mustache.
I don’t know why I was still talking about the rapture. I certainly didn’t believe in it. Regardless, it remained a thief…
The most entertaining thing about Miguel is that when he was 13 he dislocated his shoulder playing basketball and can now pop it in and out of place. There is nothing particularly interesting about Miguel.
When I was on earth I was a pretty good kid. I only got drunk when I needed to get drunk.
I’d never heard of anyone having a second baby right after the first one, but everything was so strange in those early days of motherhood that I just acted on instinct.
I loved Rena as much as a patient could love their gynecologist. We had tea together in her office. I cried when she asked how I was doing, and she showed me pictures of her terriers.
I reached for my invoice, which Dr. George, holding it between thumb and forefinger as if it were a soiled diaper, dropped into my hand.
A man with a fistful of showbags said, “That cow sounds like a person trying to sound like a cow.”
It was spring and the hills were irradient, like they had to get out all their green in one short burst before catching fire.
“The woman was a catastrophe,” Carlos told me at the time. “But she was as honest as my face is ugly.”
My new neighbor is making a violin from a cigar box. He got the cigar box from a guard. The guard, presumably, got it from outside the Fence.
She turns her back for me to fasten the rows of metal hooks. Why isn’t our small, tender freedom enough?
I pushed my nose to within an inch from the rug. I sniffed, and sniffed, and I smelled something…not quite right, but I couldn’t place it.
And then he feels that familiar sensation of drifting—when his body untethers from the material world and he soon dissolves into a fine, floating mist that evaporates into the atmosphere.
Darkness always follows.
Share some abandon.
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