A group of robotniks sat in the lot. A fire burned in an open drum between them. They sat with their backs to stacks of old bricks. They drank vodka and gasoline. Their rusted metal parts creaked. Their human eyes looked at her as she came.
Read MoreSchlafstunde
Maybe I don’t have your talent for helping others. Maybe I’m not selfless enough. Maybe it’s like my dear teacher Mrs. LeFay used to warn me, that I get so focused on “art” that I can’t see the bigger problems staring me in the face.
Read MoreNotes to a Version of Myself, Hidden in Symphonie fantastique Scores Throughout the Multiverse
When Kirsten was little, her mom told her that finwomen preyed on weak little girls.
Read MoreCreatures of the Dark Oasis
But our peace betrayed us, blinded us to the slow winding of the spindle, and when we saw it, it was too late. The end didn’t come quietly. When the earthquakes hit, three houses fell into a crack across the South River. For days, the ground heaved beneath us, and our dead moaned in their graves.
Read MoreAs the Sun Dies
The river is changing. You know this without knowing how, or why. Tatu doesn’t notice. She’s poking in the mud, digging for crabs. A black octopus climbs from the water’s surface. A mist that whispers a name. You understand it. You’re one with it, bopping your anticipation.
Read MoreSimbiyu and the Nameless
But only the worn carpets heard me, and they had no pity. When it wasn’t too cold, I took my pillow and wool blanket from the too-narrow bench and curled up on the carpet. I traced my fingers over the sun-bleached threads. Their patterns were familiar—the same triangles and rhombuses used in embroidery. The carpets held stories of engagements and weddings, children and grandchildren. Around the edges were the zigzags of protection.
Read MoreShevitsa
She was tired of performing, tired of competing, tired of the pressure, but most of all, she was tired of her father. She judged the distance, closed her eyes, and visualized what she wanted to accomplish, and then she opened her eyes and flung herself at the wall, angling her left shoulder to take the brunt of the impact. When she connected with the wall, she felt as much as heard a harsh crack, and she fell to the floor. She lay there, her shoulder burning like fire, but she had a smile on her face.
Read MoreIn the Monster’s Mouth
The man smooths over his mustache like it accentuates his Americanness, which it sort of does, and lifts the brim of his old Portland Sea Dogs cap to show his forehead, which I suppose he considers to be authentically American, like it has a mark of the treasury on it. He has the stim-marks behind the ears that tell me he’s a junkie, for splug, or wobble, or germ. Which is why he’s selling his rifle, I’m sure.
Read MoreAmericana!
Songbirds swoop around the Tree, but never alight there. There is nothing to eat. Princess Five nibbles her white glove. Princess Fourteen forces her sapphire ring over the joint of her thumb to make herself cry, so she can taste the salt of her tears. Princess Two waits until everyone is asleep and tries to eat a candy-pink petal. It hurts and tastes of blood.
Read MoreThe Fruit of the Princess Tree