FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
I’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.
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.
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…
Mama sped along the highway, unbothered by bits of gravel that flew up from the front tires and struck the windshield of the sedan.
“The woman was a catastrophe,” Carlos told me at the time. “But she was as honest as my face is ugly.”
It was spring and the hills were irradient, like they had to get out all their green in one short burst before catching fire.
You’re joking, I say, interrupting the steady bumping of the doctor’s bushy white mustache.
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.
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.
You’ve been dreading this day since the moment you found out you were pregnant—perhaps even before.
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.
A tortured simper uncoils itself across my mouth as I open another bottle of Penis wine.
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.
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.
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.
Share some abandon.
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