FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
When Laika the space dog comes back, bulleted to earth in a tiny white escape pod that dissolves upon opening, nobody can believe it.
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.
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.
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.
A man with a fistful of showbags said, “That cow sounds like a person trying to sound like a cow.”
To be encased, Clint had always thought, was foolishness. Why allow yourself to be open to such sorrow?
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.
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.
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.
When I was on earth I was a pretty good kid. I only got drunk when I needed to get drunk.
A tortured simper uncoils itself across my mouth as I open another bottle of Penis wine.
I’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.
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…
Share some abandon.
[Sassy_Social_Share]