FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
Before the headaches began, I thought myself sturdy: firm in my foundations, set square like a saltbox house.
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.
I don’t know why I was still talking about the rapture. I certainly didn’t believe in it. Regardless, it remained a thief…
He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.
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.
She turns her back for me to fasten the rows of metal hooks. Why isn’t our small, tender freedom enough?
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.
To be encased, Clint had always thought, was foolishness. Why allow yourself to be open to such sorrow?
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 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 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.
“The woman was a catastrophe,” Carlos told me at the time. “But she was as honest as my face is ugly.”
Another image rises to us both: A man hunched before a TV, watching historical documentaries, correcting incorrect facts. Rasputin was not a priest, damn it.
Mama sped along the highway, unbothered by bits of gravel that flew up from the front tires and struck the windshield of the sedan.
Share some abandon.
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