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

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

Before the headaches began, I thought myself sturdy: firm in my foundations, set square like a saltbox house.

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

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

A tortured simper uncoils itself across my mouth as I open another bottle of Penis wine.

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.

She said I would find my perfect love when on the brink of death.

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

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.

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.

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