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As part of an online writers ”interview” series, I decided to deviate a little from the norm and do my first interview with our housecat, while I await my first ever conversation with an actual human.
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“We wouldn't mock the recent Tornado victims, right? Why mock the mentally ill?” Jennifer Donnell, Fictionaut Member. The mentally ill are close to my heart, having helped the most severely impaired adults and…
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When they first brought me home, I was their pride and joy. Then, one day, they put me in this wooden box.
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The Guy Behind Me
only had one item.
And he looked too young
to fully grasp
Loneliness.
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It was a battered, creaky, rickety old thing, this wheelbarrow. It had two wooden handles with cracks running through the wood, a fat rubber wheel and a deep tray encrusted with the mud and plaster and grout that it had transported through decades of heavy use. Based on…
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The handler found Topsy as docile as a woman being fitted for a shoe. Each time he tapped his cane against her ankle, she lifted her foot and held the pose, allowing him to dip his sponge into a bucket and pull it wet across the thick ridges of her skin. It was…
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Jackson ran his sweaty hands over his vintage cowboy shirt hoping testosterone would iron it.
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Isn’t it funny how a mosaic of neurons in our heads receives sensations from the outer world and grows into postulates and letters?
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I was sitting in Prague
having breakfast on 9/11
near the Astronomical Clock
while the world was bombing ISIS
the sons of ex-Nazis
sitting at a table nearby
and old apparatchiks
leisurely eating sausages
while the world took a moment
to
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As soon as I got the suspenders adjusted I felt different. I felt like Wilfred Brimley.
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{A} So I think maybe I am a robot. If I was a robot, I would do lewd things, metallic (cold, hard, shiny, heavy, malleable, loud, acrid, industrial, immovable, unstoppable) things. I would do the things I do in my dark powerless dreams. People would understand and…
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You are in a car speeding through Dublin towards the West year after year the journey uncoils past the same landmarks Kilmainham Jail strapped to a chair bullet to the brain on by the Rowntree Mackintosh factory where the black and yellow and orange and r
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I heard the patron yelling,
“Hey, man! That’s my cappuccino!”
when the young female snatched it and got away.
But the police cornered her a few blocks away,
licking the last bits of foam off her wiley whiskers.
That’s how they knew they had
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The Utah State Attorney General's office recently stated in a court filing that there is no constitutional right to marry a laptop.(Time, 6/19/17)Smartphones are spreading head lice.(New York, 7/10/17)People are less helpful when it's hot.(Time, 7/24/17)Online virtual…
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We've worked silence over /
Like pros, our best work together.
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He puts on a choir of prepositions, 142 adjectives, 317 ramifications of cotton... and 177 semicolons engorged with cabbage.
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* Dedicated to Bernie MaddoffThere was a long line at the men's room.You know,when men reach a certain age,there is an urgencyto their frequent trips.So I saw an opportunityI said:" I know Bernie I can get you in.""Really?," they saidbut I played it coy"It ain't easyBernie…
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No pain is private. How can it be?
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She lets go and it slides back too slowly.
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Daylight and cold sensed as an abstract, a number in my mind. Air thin, polluted, lacking oxygen. But the Recyclers are at it again.
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Priscilla Mainwaring has a little surprise in store for her husband Dan. “I’m going to greet him when he comes home on his 50th birthday wearing nothing but Saran Wrap,” she says. "The Cling Plus kind, not the Premium."
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A father's soft neglect has repercussions.
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...I grew up in a provincial town which at the time had no bookstore and no library — no library even at school...
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A story about convincing people to do things they don't want to do, written entirely in dialogue; originally published by CHEAP POP.
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We were both looking up at the rainy sky, while the big jet barely moved through the clouds, coming in for a landing at Oakland between storms.
It sort of reminded me of 911, the way they just seemed to hover above us, barely moving, like they were poss
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Zusman snored on the sofa as Motel gathered his belongings in the dark. He moved quietly as had become his custom in the mornings. Initially he had tried not to wake his nephew on his way to work in the…
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The dogs shit on the roof and then, every two weeks or so, the man in Apartment 311 climbs out the window with a plastic shovel and scoops the shit into a white plastic bag, which soon grows heavy with dung, dangling from his black-gloved wrist.
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The following is a true story, or rather it is a true experience from the story of my life. Some say that just because something happens doesn’t really make it “true”.
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The graffiti has grown so large
It has covered everything we know and love
It has covered the windows, shutting out the light
And it’s all about leaving your mark
The ones who are living outside your walls
Have grown worried about leaving th
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