Minute FourFrank is omnipotent. The city is silent as a mausoleum. Millions shrunken to ashes by the first brutalising impacts, portent of billions more. Explosions tear people up like cartoon characters. Frank rages but the eardrums which might hear are… Continue Reading
Once there was a woman with two legs. It sounds as though she was normal as normal could be, except one of the legs could sing and the other one couldn’t. The knee had a mouth, but no eyes. As… Continue Reading
They creep into Smoke Tree Trailer Village on a moonless night. Normally, our desert community remains undisturbed, except when Palace brings food for Jenika. When the unfamiliar RV rattles into our lot, I come out of reverie to Jenika’s whispers:… Continue Reading
The first time I felt Amy standing behind me after she died, I was making her signature hot chocolate — the kind that requires three separate acts of faith: dark chocolate melted slow as sunrise, milk chocolate stirred until it… Continue Reading
The children grew heavier the more I watched them. Their little thighs puffed up, their backsides ballooning, their disproportionate heads leaden as their fingers chubby and exploring reached for the ponies’ ears, and they kicked their sides as if they… Continue Reading
And the door swings open. And the door swings open and open again and never shuts all the way. All sorts of things come in through the door. People. Ideas. Gifts. Tombstones. R.I.P. this. R.I.P. that. Give to the poor,… Continue Reading
The boulder had trailed an inexplicably straight and solitary path along the flat, desert floor. It had then travelled a short distance at a right angle, and now appeared to be pointing to a building just visible at the end… Continue Reading
As Autumn accelerated — Bertie Bagley began buying blue balloons biweekly. Chauncey Clark couldn’t comprehend colors. “Nonetheless, I have never seen more beautiful balloons,” Chauncey Clark chirped. “Oh! I’ve bought them just for you — just for you,” Bertie Bagley… Continue Reading
If Richard was going to commit suicide—and this time, he really was—he wasn’t about to make some elaborate production of it. He refused to leave behind a situation which needed cleaning up. That meant not hanging himself, not slitting his… Continue Reading
When I was nine, my dad warned me about the dangers of dreaming. “You know, it’s like if you drink too much water, it shuts down the electrical connections and you just keel on over,” he’d said in his woodchip… Continue Reading