Fiction
The Third Root
As the dentist works, her giant belly touches my arm and my head, and I think the baby kicks me.
The Five-Year Plan
The family in my novel is like this arowana. Born to hurt things. They are hunters, even when there is nothing left to hunt.
Searching La-La Land
La-la land, she called it, that place her daughter went that she would never go.
Blue
My mother isn’t dead. I know this the way I know that squares are also rectangles, and that the sun is also a star.
Dead Jasmine
On the anniversary of his death, I put a stem of jasmine in a glass vase on the windowsill. The flower’s fragrance a bridge between this world and the next.
twisty little passages
You walk to the house. The door blocks you from going farther.
The Joneses
They were lucky for the brilliant output of the world’s brilliant minds, for so many chances to consume it. Lucky to live in an age of plenty, of pleasure.
Mouth, Fist
He never imagined himself holding a placard, waving a fist. But this, this he could do. People needed to be fed.
Camp Games
Werewolves, you unscathed bastards, open your eyes and decide who to kill.