1687 17 9
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Words darken with smut and irony over time.
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168611
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Background
foreground
life in the middle
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168600
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Normally, Aidan looked like a guy. A highly feminine guy, but still a guy. He wore his hair in a buzz cut (a turn on of mine), wore tight clothes, worked out so he had a bit of muscle, but nothing over the top. And he was my guy.
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168621
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Thirty years later – and all the years in between – Alan Walton would remember how insidious it was, the anger that started that night with Quinton Harris, fifteen years old and the undisputed leader of the troop, and spread like a virus to the other boys
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16861610
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A figure left the building.
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168675
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The easiest and most legal way to pick up a woman is to take a single, writer friend with you to a bar. While there, look for the woman you are interested in. Her? Are you sure? Okay then. Next, tell your writer friend that the woman keeps looking at him when he's…
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168697
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168653
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We sat in silence, the entire train, the few other passengers in anxious wait to see if I would change my mind. We all flipped pages, glanced up at each other, looked away when noticed.
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168620
|
The rocket shone in the distance. Cape Canaveral had never looked so pretty.
|
168674
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The Judge waited for the perfect wave.
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1686149
|
the wind mistook your arms for wings
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168621
|
My buddy had been in the computer business, a systems analyst. Surely there would be some mention of him online. But there was nothing. Nothing, that is, until I saw the obituary.
|
1686188
|
The cloudless sky/
amplifies the incompletion,/
clarifies the imperfections/
of the night’s normalcy-
|
168631
|
I’m secretly hoping for a huge bouquet, a fruit basket, a pickle jar of urine in a lunch bag on my doorstep, even.
|
168500
|
"I can't believe my 'best friend' and my 'girlfriend' would actually start dating if I authorized and coordinated repeated threesomes for us!" Robert Eww was saying, holding aloft a dagger and book, with an olive wreath around his head.
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168576
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—indistinct and foggy, my eyes lost at sea,
confined to a horizon not close to land.
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168541
|
Third time that day, he was on me. On me like bees to a flower (or flies on shit, he'd correct me, no doubt). Sucking sweet nectar and breathing that breath — damn that breath — 'round my head, in my ear, pestering, bugging, like a bee he annoyed me.
B
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168522
|
my mouth is open, ready to bite your tiny toes
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168500
|
“Devil’s Pass.” It had the highest rate of vehicle fatalities per year in the entire State of Colorado. Everyone in my state drove like a bunch of stupid rejects, so I asked the guy just how many? He replied,
“Four thousand for the entire state!...Nin
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168521
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Slipshod shoes were the first sign of a meltdown. Sometimes she could see it coming. A prickly gentleman washing his clothes on a Thursday afternoon. One week he’s fine. Nothing wrong with owning a sour face. The next Thursday, his shoes don’t match.
|
168544
|
What if blood engorging your penis could be the result of emotions other than sex and violence? Wouldn't it be nice if your dick could be used to express the lengths and depths of other feelings?
|
1685108
|
The best thing about being a cowboy is the cows.
|
168599
|
She may never know and it sureis a small world. She may neverknow and they have a list. She maynever know, I'm very grateful.She may never know and I couldhave sworn we were getting along justfine. I refused to say goodbye. I am still wearing those…
|
168521
|
The story itself is not much longer than a snippet. What is a snippet anyway?
|
168575
|
The Devil and the Holy Ghost played Euchre on Friday nights. The Devil drank rock and rye and the Holy Ghost went for Miller Lite. What just irks hell out of me, pardon my French, the Ghost began, is that nobody knows who the fuck I am.
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16851910
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168522
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1685148
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168400
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I smoked my cigarro under his watchful eye. We were never able to make too much conversation even when I was teaching him at Educenter. Now that David had opened his own school, Evert had come to learn with him because it was much more affordable, but he
|
168465
|
This writers' conference (sponsored by VQR, which had run its banner ad atop the Fictionaut home page in the summer of 2014, which begins to explain both my attendance and this essay) revealed itself as an apt subject . . .
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