Fiction | Short Story

God Hospital

“The healer’s home is a genuine trailer and sure as shit there’s the letters J-E-S-U-S graffiti-ed in red right across it.”

My tooth has gone black. My mother said it died from sugar and my forgetful brushing and now I must suffer the consequences. She says it kindly, but it lands hot as the truth, because there’s nothing she can do. We don’t have health insurance and even if we did, dental is never included. So, here I am sucking on a popsicle—the only thing that soothes it—in the God-awful August sun and watching Duris and waiting for Curly to come take us to the healer.


It must be how the rich live.

Yeah, baby, I’ll take you to the healer.

That’s my cousin!


healthcareas we know it?

no homo man.


most leave alive,