Fiction

Then Go To Paris, I Say

My mother is beautiful even when she bangs her head against the wall. When she does, her black, shiny hair swings back and forth and I can see, in profile, the ...

“Divebombing…”

“Divebombing” is This Thing I Do With Camera One-Twelve on Forney Towers Where I Focus on the Wide Horizon of Trees and Electric Windmills and Then Begin a Slow...

Click

Coming through some crack into her mind there strayed the American phrase every which way, as if a piece of American film had flaked off and found her, but that...

Morning Sun

Nora is in the kitchen drinking her coffee and looking at the dead teachers at the elementary school. Mrs. Kittridge and Ms. Hofstetter are mingling among the o...

The Mouse and the Walnut Shell

Jenna pulls a pink plastic-wrapped wand out of her purse and sets it down on that container where you’re supposed to dispose of pads and tampons—that steel box ...

Grudge Match

I am mass. I am momentum. I am a big, shuddering kind of a man, arms swinging and trembling muscles in my red spandex. I am wroth, I am masculinity, I am ...

Visitant

She was halving apricots when the phone began. Private Caller. The handset vibrated urgently in her palm. Probably some company trying to scam her into believin...