She drank a bottle of poison. It must have been household cleaner. His poem doesn’t specify.
“Someday he’ll meet a fate I didn’t think of, and that will be my fault, too.”
Everything seemed like a metaphor, as if I was a teenager or a poet.
You’ll survive, Elon said. That’s why I sent you.
“A sign in the window said No Minors after a certain hour.”
In Cairo, teenagers—literal and figurative—were in control of everything.
They watched the uprising on the phone, while eating apricot pie.
The classified ad said only PHONE WORK and a number. “Look,” he said. “It’s not what anybody’d call honest work.”
“This was her punishment for accepting everything and staying quiet.”
The audience are asked not to begin to die unexpectedly.
“I tell myself, he is only a ghost; he cannot touch or hurt me.”
“Jin looked at Naomi . . . sibling love mixing with fatal devotion.”
“This game was one in a series of battles stretching into eternity.”
“They all believed their fathers would continue, would always continue.”
“First comes love, then comes marriage, at last comes dentistry.”
The Tomato had won the election. It was finally the Blue Toes’ time.
“They became opinionated and we grew bored.”
“It never strikes her that she could die. It never has.”
“I didn’t want him to be the one who was disrobing Zeenat Aman.”
“This year’s theme is the decade when their moms were pretty.”
What kind of story would you like to write?
Haven't set your password? Login with your associated social account