FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
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…
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.
She turns her back for me to fasten the rows of metal hooks. Why isn’t our small, tender freedom enough?
The day does not conclude with the gentle exhale of the earth, but with Mother Superior flipping the hourglass over, again.
He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.
You’ve been dreading this day since the moment you found out you were pregnant—perhaps even before.
At the end of the meeting, the villagers agreed to contribute shillings and pounds to sponsor Elochi to a university in America.
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.
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 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.
You’re joking, I say, interrupting the steady bumping of the doctor’s bushy white mustache.
It was spring and the hills were irradient, like they had to get out all their green in one short burst before catching fire.
“The woman was a catastrophe,” Carlos told me at the time. “But she was as honest as my face is ugly.”
I don’t know why I was still talking about the rapture. I certainly didn’t believe in it. Regardless, it remained a thief…
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.
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.
When I was on earth I was a pretty good kid. I only got drunk when I needed to get drunk.
Share some abandon.
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