1759 4 4
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Burger King has rekindled Flame, its $4 broiled-meat-scented spray.
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175921
|
Judith was a bed wetter. Judith was a first-year college student and she was embarrassed that she wet the bed.
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175987
|
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175910
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Sophie hoped that Ryan would just stay in the bathroom and never come out. Her stomach turned just thinking about him, but wealthy nerds were easier to work than wealthy regular guys. No self-esteem, no experience with women…no problem.
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1758209
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feeling empty as the
bottom of a bottle
dry as a bone
in death valley alone
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175874
|
You're a good dog, she whispered to him, a good brave dog. Her face was tight with soap.
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175832
|
fate is an illusion we use to ease the terror of our mortality
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1758126
|
I looked around in my pantry but there were no sentences I felt like cooking.
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175866
|
Age Eight: Custody battle. Reassure your worried mother that it’s alright, this will give you something interesting to tell your children one day. Until now, life has been very vanilla.
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175866
|
The real problem with being face blind isn't that you can't recognize faces. It's that people expect you to be able to.
|
175853
|
Sometime in the late 60s when I was thirteen I had this paper route for the San Mateo Times.
|
175863
|
I'm not sure if this is breaking the rules of Fictionaut, but here's a trailer of a poetry tour of Europe I did earlier this year. We hope to break it down into webisodes soon enough to highlight the brilliant readings, brilliant local poets and such that you can find not…
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1758149
|
I crave the confines of the convent
|
175833
|
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1758114
|
My spooky cat got out again. Under the deck she ran. Out came the hose that chased her about. Fur spiked, tail pointing, yowling, she hissed at me, and back in the house she pranced. It's been two days now. She slithers out for food after…
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175784
|
The house had to be clean - I mean thorough-clean - when he got home from the pit for his tea, or he’d throw his plate at the wall and the gravy would run down onto the carpet. There was always gravy.
|
175741
|
Each drip off the corrugated plastic sheeting made a tinny sound that he could hear from deep within the damp sleeping bag and layers of blankets where he was trying to sleep.
|
175721
|
For the briefest moment, she was part of the sky. She hung there. Frozen. Suspended. Arms outstretched. She thought maybe she could take off flying, if she strained against gravity hard enough. She would soar into the pale blue until she reached the clouds. They …
|
175700
|
There won't be dancing, anymore. That isn't true, that can't be true; but there is no floor to dance on, you know?
|
175785
|
The strange bones of language
wander the room.
|
175776
|
I’m supposed to be writing poems but it’s Saturday morning and I’m watching cartoons.
|
175766
|
It was always your body that told so much --
lips working some secret out
|
175767
|
I start with a morsel of truth, then hide it with lies...
|
175654
|
It turns out I know a thing or two about momentum. I know, I know. Like the crescendo of your bicycle wheels. Like the force the florist put on the stems the day Linda died. The way my fingers spin between planetary mass. This is how I know I’m not real
|
175642
|
Looking with his ears, Hearing with his eyes, Not really mute, he simply didn't know how to speak.One word, then another string together,a crack spreads across an ice covered lake. Now there is an open channel, and his thoughts roil the…
|
175600
|
He took off his sombrero and playfully placed it on my head. “And really, don’t be upset. You’re fine. There’s nothing wrong with loving your cat.”
He was right, there is nothing wrong with loving your cat. But there is something wrong with owning a di
|
175686
|
With small and fleshy hands/
I scratch at enigmatic stones,
|
175665
|
the names / she carried (within)
|
175620
|
I only knew that my heart was not in my life as I was presently living it. I needed the breasts of my Helen in my mouth forever, or I was going to die. Die! Ah, the life of a poet! I couldn’t go on living like this. Why should I go on living like this?
|
175621
|
Linus had it right with the security blanket he held like a beloved pet swan. Geneva had it all wrong with a pastel-colored music box, painted with impressionist-styled daisies and tied up in gold-ribbed pink bow. But it had come from her grandmother. Her
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