Stories tagged literary-fiction

Women Making Love to Monsters

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I started dating the Minotaur because of Colleen; at the time she was going with a friend of his. The whole thing was a surprise to me because I'd never been attracted to Greek men. This is how it happened. Colleen's new guy, Ian, was known by many…

Wild Dreams of Reality, 10

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I spent the whole day at Oliveira's, writing furiously in my notebooks. The words came pouring out. Just before seven, Darrell picked me up. I grew anxious driving down to Parker's studio because it was in a bad area on the border between Oakland

Wild Dreams of Reality, 13

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At 7:30 that evening my brother knocked on Parker's front door. When I went to let him in, sweat was running off Darrell's head like he'd been hit by a water balloon. The air was absolutely unmoving, and there was the smell of tar from the asphalt in th


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We were a perfect match of broken pieces of flesh and cobalt. We moved in waves of couch plastic crinkling and clicking.

Things Don't Break

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People always ask me about Vincent Van Gogh. Everything I know about that man I learned from random people on the street coming up to me and asking. Nineteenth Century expressionist painter. Epileptic. One time during a seizure he went nuts and cut his ea

Maximus and Kimchi

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The dogs shit on the roof and then, every two weeks or so, the man in Apartment 311 climbs out the window with a plastic shovel and scoops the shit into a white plastic bag, which soon grows heavy with dung, dangling from his black-gloved wrist.

The Unicorns, Part One

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Later, your father stared, confused, at the empty spot where the wall paint layers ended in the shape of the old machines. He stopped coming in.

The Recall Year

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I remember where I was when I heard the news. Across my computer screen: FDA demands recall for 2008 — all 365 days.


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Around the edge like a wound, the copper and blood have framed it; autumn in full flame. Me and Jillie, too.

Silver Moon Glimmer

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I walked around the mountains and the gravel roads that once were my home. The rain made tiny rivers in the clay that ran hard and fast, and I splashed in them until my feet were saturated and my hair was stuck to my face and in my mouth salty and I cried


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Costas was the Greek who put these buildings up all over the city. But all it meant to us was forty five floors—all windows and glass—and not one ledge to give a foothold.

Silver Corvette

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But the silver Corvette is like the inside of a church. It's a sacred place. The white leather interior is spotless, luxurious. The dash is real wood, walnut, he says. He caresses it like a body, like a woman.

Cayo Costa/Coney Island

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I am now that woman. I am as feckless and brave as the horse-shoe crabs on Cayo Costa

Wild Garden

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Even though it was late November, it still bloomed. Extravagantly. Obviously it had no shame, obviously it reveled in its own beauty.

20th Century Anna

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Why can't you mimic your mythical counterpart? Anna Karenina? Have you never considered the tall dark stranger? The boot to the face, the fangs on the neck? Vronsky is Russian Gentry, a veritable prince and he swept that Anna off her feet in two sec