FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
“The woman was a catastrophe,” Carlos told me at the time. “But she was as honest as my face is ugly.”
A tortured simper uncoils itself across my mouth as I open another bottle of Penis wine.
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.
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.
You’ve been dreading this day since the moment you found out you were pregnant—perhaps even before.
When I was on earth I was a pretty good kid. I only got drunk when I needed to get drunk.
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…
I’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.
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.
He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.
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.
It was spring and the hills were irradient, like they had to get out all their green in one short burst before catching fire.
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.
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…
She turns her back for me to fasten the rows of metal hooks. Why isn’t our small, tender freedom enough?
Before the headaches began, I thought myself sturdy: firm in my foundations, set square like a saltbox house.
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.
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.
Share some abandon.
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