Stories tagged failure

The Getting of Ignorance

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It was too late to be eponymous. I was happy enough to be an emulator. But even then, my ideas were nothing but re-runs of re-runs. Like a high-school production of Macbeth.


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your leather jacket zip has left a row of teethmarks on her arm

To the Editor

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The frailty of my ego would not bear a protracted period awaiting the definitive fate of my work.


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For you – because you deserve more effort

Review of the Unknown Pencil Pusher

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My brother the unknown writer and I sail our ship through rocky sand. With twig muskets in hand. We pretend we are pirates. My brother wears the puffy white shirt. His ear lobe pierced wearing a hoop made of fool's gold. I am barefoot and decide to remove

Failed Restaurants

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Their specialty is the roasted Australian hare, long ears intact, arranged on a bed of sassafras.


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His academic nightmare is set in an examination hall, where the student takes a seat at a folding table in the center of the room.


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Years later, I found a map in my brother’s lonely apartment in L.A. “Bury me here,” he instructed in a scrawl on a map he had drawn of Woodlawn Cemetery.

The Morning

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Early in the morning I wanted to send you something for when you wake;

A View of Equinox

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I knew Caroline wasn’t about to dump me for a tow truck driver, but I could tell she was thinking about bigger possibilities.


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Damien, my boyfriend, talks me back to sleep when I wake up in the middle of the night, he doesn't judge me for being afraid of the dark, or being lost at sea, he simply listens to me breathlessly explaining why I'm awake— again— at 3:32 in the…

How to Forget

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Refuse to go to the church service, even though you already missed the funeral. Tell his mother something came up. Call his phone over and over, just to hear his voice, until his mother asks you to stop. Make a recording of his voicemail. Delete it an

Breaking Dawn

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This is where he died, she says to me, and points to the damp pavement. Her hair is wet, and slicked against her neck. The humidity is making everything engulf her. The sleep shorts I bought her last July are loose on her now, but between the rain and


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But she knew what she would find. She knew it all the moment she felt the sticky fingerprints behind the slat of her old oak slay bed. The fingerprints that would only be left from a person grabbing it from behind their head. The fingerprints that she

The Devil Line is a Violin (ELECTRIC DELIRIUM 1.1)

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Rosea plays a bohemian plainsong for the cosmonauts among us, while her fuzzy apple hips spit glitter, spin strobes: pink shades of pantyline flicker; lip-licked neon hues scrape strings in B sharp, a gloomy clue.