FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
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.
On the first day of our new life together, my husband realized that I was not interested in theoretical debate. He said it was okay by him and went out to get some pancake mix.
The young boy goes to bed and kisses his mother goodnight. He goes to bed and closes his eyes and wishes his family good sleep.
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.
The day does not conclude with the gentle exhale of the earth, but with Mother Superior flipping the hourglass over, again.
Allanson looked out of the viewport, at the ragtag flotilla of ships trailing behind, some of them slow to catch up. It was to be expected with the little time that they’d had to cobble the fleet together.
You’re joking, I say, interrupting the steady bumping of the doctor’s bushy white mustache.
She turns her back for me to fasten the rows of metal hooks. Why isn’t our small, tender freedom enough?
Hitting up homes peopled by those with nothing much to lose was an easy score. The less you had, the less likely you were to defend it. But this home was different. Its residents had a lot to lose and the will to fight for it.
When Laika the space dog comes back, bulleted to earth in a tiny white escape pod that dissolves upon opening, nobody can believe it.
You’ve been dreading this day since the moment you found out you were pregnant—perhaps even before.
To be encased, Clint had always thought, was foolishness. Why allow yourself to be open to such sorrow?
At the end of the meeting, the villagers agreed to contribute shillings and pounds to sponsor Elochi to a university in America.
Before the headaches began, I thought myself sturdy: firm in my foundations, set square like a saltbox house.
“The woman was a catastrophe,” Carlos told me at the time. “But she was as honest as my face is ugly.”
Share some abandon.
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