Stories tagged prose

When I Am Dead, Let Someone Tell Him Of My Suffering

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Susie watched the record, her mouth agape just slightly, the spinning vinyl unveiling the powerful sound of a voice she'd wanted to hear her whole life.

At Least There Will Be Plenty Implied

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Accidental suicide, though. Why, that could happen to anyone.

Two Snapshots of A Drowning Girl

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One fine afternoon a few months after her husband's death, Susan awoke in the porcelain tub of her gigantic, empty house with: two champagne bottles, one only half-empty; a Xanax bottle, completely empty; and a loaded gun, which was most startling

After Grief

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Within a day, she had a scummy apartment which belonged to the government. It had cockroaches, which she was not used to. They churned her stomach, repulsive little things. Not even creatures. Two brains, she'd read: one in the head, one in the ass.

Virginia Aste

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This is like getting a hand full of black slugs as a gift.

If I were dying

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The doctor told me: "You have 24 hours to live. no more, no less."

None But The Righteous

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Susan was twenty-four when it happened again, but she had neither the patience nor the attachment to see it through.

The Fourth Prague Defenestration: 7

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The family castle, Krivoklat, pronounced something like sheevoklat, where my maternal grandmother’s family ran a hotel, was founded in 1109 A.D. (how long our family ran the hotel business is anybody’s guess, taken over by the Nazi’s, then the C

The Fourth Prague Defenestration: 11

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Many weddings took place at the foot of the Astronomical Clock Tower. One every hour, on the hour. It turned out these were set-up photo shoots for things like men’s cologne, brocade bridal gowns, and smoked carp. At night we wandered around the many


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a man and a woman in a room at the end of the world.

The Fourth Prague Defenestration: 13

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The next thing we knew, the KGB started tailing us everywhere we went. They must have heard about Lenin’s Paintings, was all we could figure. Because, what if they were real? That night we went out to a pizza place where we saw the worst graffiti in t

Open Wound Talking

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My body a ghost


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Everybody knew the McDonald’s at the Waterfront was selling theraflu stamp bags, and I guess I’d heard how bad it was for you—they’d had reports of dumbasses ODing on channel 2, 4, and 11—but it was a lot stronger than regular heroin and a lot cheaper...


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The whole time I wondered why I was there. She didn't want to see me. I didn't exist to her anymore. Nothing and nobody from those times did. It was important to try seeing her anyhow. She had been there for me once. I believed in righteous dues.

Strange Times

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From my place, down here amongst the earth, we have many names for you.