Stories tagged identity

Mistaken Identity

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Scott was sure his father was reassured by the sticky stains in his Penthouse; Dad found them when Scott was thirteen. Dad had just one issue of that venerable porno, which Scott defiled with his joy. It was not the Penthouse models…

Fringe Element

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In order to be a catalyst for catharsis — which is just a fancy way of saying agent of change — you have to be willing to condition yourself into something partially inhuman. Only something on the very outskirts of humanity…

Diary of a Lost Girl

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They were all in love with tortured musicians, 22-year-old geniuses who hanged themselves after making one perfect album. The musicians generally lived in England. It was safer that way.


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The suit is heavy, yes. It smells of sweat, mostly my sweat, but I had Johnny Frauberg fill in for me a few times and he sweats like a beast. A beast.

Tabula Rasa

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When I was younger, I tried very hard to be myself, but it never worked. I'd close my eyes, wait a beat, open them and slowly bring them into focus. This is the new me, the only me. Never worked, not once. It could only last a minute or two, so I…

If IT Were YOU

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author's note: the borgs in this story have been programmed to think of themselves as IT and in speech refer to selves as YOU* Though IT too had ball and socket joints, the Borg could not sit down to face ITs inquisitor. While IT felt the need to clean up the fallen…

What Remains

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I knew what to expect. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was in Greg’s genes. That was easy. It was animal. Instinct lights the path, and our bodies follow the light. The real mystery is the who am I question. It drove Hamlet to murder, and l

What Remains II

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Duh. It’s all the same sky. Instead I nod, and don’t say anything.


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Pion's long fingers fly from black to white, white to black, without missing even a measure. The nocturne starts soft.

Miss Edna's Lace

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When Elvis died, I felt so empty that I headed straight for Jimmy Choo's, but quietly, with the half-veil of my pillbox hat draped low over my face. I didn't want to draw attention to my vintage Dior mourning outfit, since I normally wear pants, even here. The voices…

Knocking off the edges

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The chipping sound started around the time Susannah reached puberty. Not all at once, it was just now and then at first.“What's that noise?” she'd say, and everyone would cock their heads to listen. Her mother eventually took her to the doctor. He said it…

Feminist Strategy

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I was born the day after Christmas.

The Shared Transgender(er)

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...I told Uncle Lou I thought it (trans-gendering) looked like a thoughtful way of occupying the world. It was a personal triumph, for some individuals, over the destructive affects of denial. Besides, it hurt no one, and it didn’t destroy property. I alw


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It rains diamonds on Neptune, Zoe reminds herself. She knots her face and clamps her hands on her thighs, the better to ponder the impossible through the streaked windows of the bus. A small bird bounces off the glass, and Zoe looks back at it twitching on the…


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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.