FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
At the end of the meeting, the villagers agreed to contribute shillings and pounds to sponsor Elochi to a university in America.
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…
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.
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.
You’ve been dreading this day since the moment you found out you were pregnant—perhaps even before.
Before the headaches began, I thought myself sturdy: firm in my foundations, set square like a saltbox house.
He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.
A man with a fistful of showbags said, “That cow sounds like a person trying to sound like a cow.”
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.
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.
Mama sped along the highway, unbothered by bits of gravel that flew up from the front tires and struck the windshield of the sedan.
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.
Share some abandon.
[Sassy_Social_Share]