1586 4 0
|
A short triangular plastic shovels into the/White plastic container filled with topaz crystal-like/Salt granulars. Scratchy sandy sounds echo.
|
158621
|
Last night Jim taught me how to catch forks. Meaning, he taught me how to throw them. But he called it catching forks. It was late, and we were low down 3rd street, south of the Bay Bridge, the baseball stadium, all the people and cars, on top of a warehouse. There were a…
|
158677
|
I spent most of those days in my car. Stashed in the trunk was a cache of precious stones, neatly sorted and separated, bound in smooth black velvet inside a smooth black briefcase.
|
158522
|
Mo Dean woke up sober.
And tired.
Tired of life, of soiled pants, rash, vomit, and whiskey sweat. Tired of holes in his pockets and blisters on his feet, of hanging signs asking for dimes and getting only pennies. And most of all, tired of the police.
|
158540
|
She wakes up sad. She can't shit. She spreads out the foil. no creases. folds it in half. She puts the stuff in the crease. holds a lighter under it. A zippo. then smokes it. Well smokes the smoke. It's like kissing god or the…
|
158533
|
I can't take it bird by bird because I have neither.
|
158582
|
Marge bought the rug on-line.
|
158522
|
Why yes I began writing this, my bildungsroman, Who is Mitsy Jackson, in spring, 1974 or thereabouts, and thank you so much for asking.
|
158532
|
it felt fucking awesome at that moment, in that way only little things can feel huge and life affirming
|
158565
|
The boy heard loud barks and squeals, climbed on a chair, and looked out the window at the barnyard and the faded blood red barn.
|
158577
|
Content may contain ordinary, everyday, and all around average happenings.
|
158571
|
Emma Louise is walking over a concrete bridge when she spies, out of the corner of her eye, a man fishing, waist deep, in the river tumbling below. She is thinking that the water must be very cold on this autumn day, when she sees an extraordinary thing.
|
1585104
|
I hold them to the light...
|
158564
|
As black as his socks with a hole in them she used to sew while watching. The octopus has three hearts you know. Yes, No and Maybe.
As black as inkpots, inkjets, as black as typewriter ribbons and the Gutenberg press, as black as the ink of a trillion
|
158510
|
This must never get out in the press, for it would cause widespread panic. The priests would surround my house, not to mention the police and possibly the army. Castor Desayuno has come back from the dead!
|
158574
|
We are all in big trouble. Here's some fiction to let your soul experience the beast.
|
158500
|
My gaze could have gutted any man. Any man, but John Marcy. History would write that John Marcy was a traitor to his country. Public enemy number one in the state of New York. When that probably couldn’t be farther from the truth.
|
158400
|
I catch a glimpse of myself in the small mirror on the adjacent wall and find myself becoming shy at my own reflection, which is ludicrous in theory, shying away from oneself, but as I lock onto the few freckles I have spread neatly on both cheeks...
|
1584179
|
Shakespeare had red hair / Van Gogh never painted a nude
|
158484
|
When hadrons collide they’re not always Swiss. They may be cheese or neutral but that isn’t of my concern.
Look at them, touch them, feel them, the quirks of the antiquarks, masonic mesons, baron baryon.
|
15841011
|
She left knives and hot pots with handles akimbo. Like a guardian angel, he turned them in. Like an ungrateful Eve, she turned them back out.
|
158487
|
Cat fight. I rush outside and swinging my trusty broom I charge the rolling yowling ball of black fur.
|
158465
|
When I first started out in my working career, I made it the habit of obtaining jobs with companies that were about to go under. (I wrote more books while on unemployment than by any other method.) I was a real bloodhound at sniffing out the pre-dawn od
|
158400
|
COLLEAGUES, ACQUAINTANCES SUSPECT MARK ZUCKERBERG IS A MASKED VIGILANTE
|
158321
|
The next week, she sends a small white box in the mail / with tissue paper, a ceramic mold the color of bleached bone—
|
158365
|
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 . . .
|
158363
|
It was only a dream. No one died, nor were they even harmed. So horrifying!
|
158352
|
We slept beside dripping glaciers
people like us
We were never meant to be housed
contained, kept, petted, cleaned
We could only be gutted
You used us one time
and threw us out
people like us
We sprouted the wings of desire
by watchi
|
1583129
|
She said, “I think I’m pregnant,” but I thought that the sidewalk looked cleaner than usual,
|
158300
|
"Look at the grime on those curtains. Not fit for an Emperor. Pull them down. Put up fresh new ones. Not a spot."
"Oh! Look at this throne. All uneven legs. The gems are not shining. The gold looks dull. Fix it, fix it, fix it!"
|
