FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
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.
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.
You’ve been dreading this day since the moment you found out you were pregnant—perhaps even before.
To be encased, Clint had always thought, was foolishness. Why allow yourself to be open to such sorrow?
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.
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…
I don’t know why I was still talking about the rapture. I certainly didn’t believe in it. Regardless, it remained a thief…
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.
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.
When Laika the space dog comes back, bulleted to earth in a tiny white escape pod that dissolves upon opening, nobody can believe it.
“The woman was a catastrophe,” Carlos told me at the time. “But she was as honest as my face is ugly.”
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’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.
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.
She turns her back for me to fasten the rows of metal hooks. Why isn’t our small, tender freedom enough?
Share some abandon.
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