FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
Mama sped along the highway, unbothered by bits of gravel that flew up from the front tires and struck the windshield of the sedan.
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 tortured simper uncoils itself across my mouth as I open another bottle of Penis wine.
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.
He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.
At the end of the meeting, the villagers agreed to contribute shillings and pounds to sponsor Elochi to a university in America.
and on and on and on and on they ran, the Merry Men, running from a hundred and one arrows bought with taxes stolen twice over…
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.
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.
To be encased, Clint had always thought, was foolishness. Why allow yourself to be open to such sorrow?
“The woman was a catastrophe,” Carlos told me at the time. “But she was as honest as my face is ugly.”
Directly after the arrival of the Armada, this model made sense, as the gap between Unthulanian and Human cultures prevented a commensurable exchange of practices…
The day does not conclude with the gentle exhale of the earth, but with Mother Superior flipping the hourglass over, again.
You’ve been dreading this day since the moment you found out you were pregnant—perhaps even before.
I don’t know why I was still talking about the rapture. I certainly didn’t believe in it. Regardless, it remained a thief…
It all started with the curse of my tits. Women’s bodies are cursed. Everyone tries to look at them, everyone tries to ignore them.
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.
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.
Share some abandon.
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