FICTION

“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
Albert Camus
Laika Came Home

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 Drift

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.

homecoming king and queen
Point Pleasant

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.

Damn Good Listener

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.

forest fire
When The Ten Thousand Ton Trilobite Attacked

We said, Heck, that’s really something.

sun in clouds
The Rapture

I don’t know why I was still talking about the rapture. I certainly didn’t believe in it. Regardless, it remained a thief…

Chrysalis

To be encased, Clint had always thought, was foolishness. Why allow yourself to be open to such sorrow?

cupcakes
Pleasure That Cannot Be Felt as Such

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.

Little Cow

A man with a fistful of showbags said, “That cow sounds like a person trying to sound like a cow.”

The Sweetness

I’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.

Nautilus

She turns her back for me to fasten the rows of metal hooks. Why isn’t our small, tender freedom enough?

rotarty phone
My Wife’s Phone

Sex is not a thank you card in this house.

The Rift

None speak of how the streets collide in coarse seams like scars, the fresh cobbles unable to level with the ones shaken from their mortar by uncountable seasons.

A Eulogy For the Boy I Don’t Love

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.

The Whole Vile Lot

I eat my Oreos with relish. No—I mean I relish in the Oreos I eat.

Caricature of B. Lovely

I point my camera towards B. Lovely and she is sitting on the curb.

You and Jane

You’ve been dreading this day since the moment you found out you were pregnant—perhaps even before.

Cost of Care

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.

Submission

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…

Oppressive and Certain Decay

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.

Share some abandon.

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