Who were we? Puerto Ricans stuck in a drift, still moving from an American haunting howling on The Island, howling in us.
The swastika on his sign is hand-drawn, a little uneven. Painted, not permanent marker. He made that thing himself. A Nazi crafter.
The prayer for air safety then begins to taxi to a halt: “Charge your angels, oh Lord, to escort the plane from take-off to landing.”
“You’re Mexican!” he said a little too enthusiastically, like I was just what he’d been looking for. I worried that he was going to put me in his museum or something.
The whales would sing because they were alone, but with each other, their song a reminder that loss and exile are linked.
I can’t stop seeing the brush in her hand as a scalpel, her countless bracelets jangling as she prepares to make the next cut.
The winner must avoid having part or all of his or her assets taken into trust by the federal government.
My daughter was fearless about the near-earth object. “It’s just ice and sky dust,” she told me when I asked if she felt afraid.
Is years this place been here on this island and is years I see people age from this heaviness.
The cashiers and the butcher had eyed my wrist like it told them everything they needed to know about me. But the bracelet meant nothing to the raven. It was his toy, the part of me meant for him.
Of course Tinsley knew Mia’s book launch was on Thursday. No one could talk about anything else online all weekend, but she hadn’t dared to picture herself actually there.
He wanted to get as much work as possible, and maybe develop a mutually antagonistic relationship with a hero.
That was the problem with ghosts, they made the air around them poisonous . . . and the only way to be rid of them was to be rid of the source.
“It’s all well and good to dream. Dreaming keeps a body moving.”
Humans should never have come to Florida, but their biggest mistake of all was Zoo City.
“Like my heart was a tiny explosion,” is how one woman on r/mementorol describes her experience. I want to feel that way again.
He is forced into farcical attempts to catch her attention. Every other moment of his life has been arranged to this purpose, so why should his son’s birthday be any different?
She had a smile like yours. None of us knew her real name. Then again, none of us were asking.
We’d pull the curtains from their rods above the large living room window when we made love. This was when we were our own gods.
It’s blithe, seductive, yet innocent. The color of soulfulness, it has been chosen for its ability to give people hope.
What kind of story would you like to write?
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