FICTION
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
The day does not conclude with the gentle exhale of the earth, but with Mother Superior flipping the hourglass over, again.
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.
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…
She turns her back for me to fasten the rows of metal hooks. Why isn’t our small, tender freedom enough?
Mama sped along the highway, unbothered by bits of gravel that flew up from the front tires and struck the windshield of the sedan.
When Laika the space dog comes back, bulleted to earth in a tiny white escape pod that dissolves upon opening, nobody can believe it.
A tortured simper uncoils itself across my mouth as I open another bottle of Penis wine.
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.
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.
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…
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’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.
I don’t know why I was still talking about the rapture. I certainly didn’t believe in it. Regardless, it remained a thief…
At the end of the meeting, the villagers agreed to contribute shillings and pounds to sponsor Elochi to a university in America.
“The woman was a catastrophe,” Carlos told me at the time. “But she was as honest as my face is ugly.”
He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.
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.
Share some abandon.
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