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.
It was spring and the hills were irradient, like they had to get out all their green in one short burst before catching fire.
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.
I know you shouldn’t keep wild animals as pets, but I’ve had the same spider in my bathroom sink for over two weeks.
You’ve been dreading this day since the moment you found out you were pregnant—perhaps even before.
You’re joking, I say, interrupting the steady bumping of the doctor’s bushy white mustache.
I pushed my nose to within an inch from the rug. I sniffed, and sniffed, and I smelled something…not quite right, but I couldn’t place it.
A man with a fistful of showbags said, “That cow sounds like a person trying to sound like a cow.”
Before the headaches began, I thought myself sturdy: firm in my foundations, set square like a saltbox house.
At the end of the meeting, the villagers agreed to contribute shillings and pounds to sponsor Elochi to a university in America.
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.
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 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…
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.
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.
“The woman was a catastrophe,” Carlos told me at the time. “But she was as honest as my face is ugly.”
When I was on earth I was a pretty good kid. I only got drunk when I needed to get drunk.
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.
Share some abandon.
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