Most read stories

Sticky Wants to Grab

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I’ll bring the naproxen sodium so we won’t have any problem grabbing things.

Biography / Memoir (outline)

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Larry's next book, A Fly in My Ointment, is due out this summer

Cabana

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Rebuttal From My Vagina

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Dear Erin,And people call ME a pussy. Fuck you,The Cunt

I Am

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When I was a boy, I always wondered if Dad were black. No one in our small town looked like Dad. He had the thick features of an Arab. If he let his hair grow, it piled up in messy loafs on his head. Of course, I never asked Dad about any of this. I wasn'

Great Moments in Blindness

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I am complicit in the darkness

Aviary

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I am a 33 year old drag queen, and I frequently confuse my dreams with reality. Each morning, I awake to a research project: what has actually occurred, and what was a dream? Today I woke up believing I'd lost a pound, so I weighed myself, and I was right.…

At a loss

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I used to charm you, hold you in my hand.

Rodney & Chelsea

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Chelsea's breasts are more the size of tangerines, but he likes them. He likes that she smells like Fruit Loops and that her front teeth overlap slightly. Her mouth is glossed. He slips his tongue inside.

The 24-hour Date

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We watched kids tweeze snapping turtles out of the park grass. They dropped them into a styrophoam cup and called it the snap turtle home. When they grow up they will bite your arms off, their father said laughing.

The Thief

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I said, kiss this.

Ants

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I don't know what happened to all the men. Used to wonder if they killed them all.

Over Fifty

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Yet it was another thing to grow to become indispensable to someone without whose infirmities the helper could not exist. People in general had started to call that helpless requiring “codependency,” but to Althea that word did no good,

Surrendering August

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on the far shore, in the vineyards timed charges explode like the sun catching on fire it scares crows away from the grapes

Mussel Memory

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Andreas Cappelanus taught that the word / “love” comes from the word meaning / “to fish.”

Dr. Nishad

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Sometimes she imagined the piles of Dr. Nishad's medical waste at the end of productive day at the hospital. Stacks and heaps of connective tissue, lung matter, gristle and bone, cancerous clumps of tongue and stomach and ropes of bad muscles like wrung,

I Cant Do This Anymore

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It's a lie, it doesnt mean anything this, only that my lips are ripe and soft.

Yadda, Yadda, Yaddo

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I arrived at Yaddo, the prestigious artists’ retreat, in the summer of 1941. With America’s “day that will live in infamy” several months away, my own day of infamy began the second morning of my residency.

Angel's Return

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I never looked at her face.

Fictionaut Is Audited

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Somehow, random phrases and sentences from the stories, comments and profile pages were generated as “replies”.

Lay on Me

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On Friday nights I'm not there.

Why We Came to Target at 9:58 on a Monday Night

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Donnie remembers just in time. So we run practically every stop sign and red light in town, and get there just before they close.

The Summer Reading Program -- A Librarian Tells All!

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It's July, which, if you work in a public library, means that the Summer Reading Club is in full swing. The SRC used to be just for kids, to motivate them to read when school wasn't in session. But in recent years many libraries have expanded the program to include…

Autobiography

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The story of my life/ would put insomniacs to sleep.

Swimming

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I held on to the edge

The Weak Force

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So I walk behind Sandra’s desk and I put my radioactive tum-tum right up to her beaded dreadlocks and I tell her about the nuclear energy that is flowing through her right now. She laughs and screams at me the way I am sure her daughter does when someone

my first racist joke

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"There's a guy and he's standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon."

New York, New York

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The city's hung in flashlights.

Skyscrapers

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I love to lie when discovered. "I'm your new neighbor." "The landlord sent me." "I'm the ghost of the girl who died on the 11th floor." "I fell from the sky." I wear billowing white dresses and a wide-brimmed straw hat that throws my face into shadow. Peo

Jim Morrison Is Not Dead

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At a good distance, he stood. Hair, gray, stringy, long as a horse’s mane. His beard, thick, unkempt. Like a caterpillar, a smile worked across his face. No, he said. It won’t be another Miami. Not another Miami.