FICTION

“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
Albert Camus
A Eulogy For the Boy I Don’t Love

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.

rotarty phone
My Wife’s Phone

Sex is not a thank you card in this house.

The Rupture

Before the headaches began, I thought myself sturdy: firm in my foundations, set square like a saltbox house.

When Robin Hood Was Caught Dead To Rights

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…

wade-in

I am in Rite Aid buying ChapStick and diapers, when people start washing away in the rain.

graffiti on cement
Slabs

We drifted junk with a sledgehammer looking for juice. Sometimes the rage.

Greetings From Baja California!

Sitting at the bar on Pacific Avenue. With the seashells in the walls. Same bartender from last year, still here, making the same lethal Mai Tais.

Evan

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.

dead roses
The Cycle

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.

photo of windshield
Mother and Her Remains

Mama sped along the highway, unbothered by bits of gravel that flew up from the front tires and struck the windshield of the sedan.

Your Glass Mouth

A tortured simper uncoils itself across my mouth as I open another bottle of Penis wine.

The Sweetness

I’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.

cupcakes
Pleasure That Cannot Be Felt as Such

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.

Submission

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…

Cost of Care

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.

Here in East Greenwich

He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.

Swoon

Jenna says that he typically goes for redheads, so I run to Target and buy a box of hair dye.

Behind This Fence in Future Tense

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.

The Rift

None speak of how the streets collide in coarse seams like scars, the fresh cobbles unable to level with the ones shaken from their mortar by uncountable seasons.

view of earth from space
The Scattering

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.

Share some abandon.

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