Fiction | Short Story


They watched the uprising on the phone, while eating apricot pie.

The Allens were finishing dinner. Lucia Allen took an apricot pie out of the oven and set it on the stovetop. “You’re ready.” She smiled. “Nice and golden.”


Psychology TodayYou’re a typical example of Western ignorance with your head stuck between, what do you call it, your buttocks,

Hey, Mirahave you heard about what’s going on in Bolano?

Morning, Judd,


The Times

Did you know, Judd, that the head of Oslav Velm’s Security Squad was driving drunk in broad daylight and killed our neighbor’s eight-year-old daughter? A Federal Judge found him innocent. Did you know that Velm’s nephew ordered the demolition of a children’s hospital to build a private trapeze park? And all the children, mostly pediatric cancer patients, were declared successfully cured and sent home? Two journalists wrote about it in the papers. One was never found. The body of the other floated up the riverbank three months later. There is no justice in Bolano. No justice and no mercy. The people in Bolano, Judd, are like paper dolls. Disposable.


Let there be light

Let there be