Lori was in real, actual danger, but it was easy to convince herself she was not.
As the dentist works, her giant belly touches my arm and my head, and I think the baby kicks me.
The family in my novel is like this arowana. Born to hurt things. They are hunters, even when there is nothing left to hunt.
La-la land, she called it, that place her daughter went that she would never go.
My mother isn’t dead. I know this the way I know that squares are also rectangles, and that the sun is also a star.
On the anniversary of his death, I put a stem of jasmine in a glass vase on the windowsill. The flower’s fragrance a bridge between this world and the next.
Your knife should already be sharpened.
You walk to the house. The door blocks you from going farther.
They were lucky for the brilliant output of the world’s brilliant minds, for so many chances to consume it. Lucky to live in an age of plenty, of pleasure.
He never imagined himself holding a placard, waving a fist. But this, this he could do. People needed to be fed.
Werewolves, you unscathed bastards, open your eyes and decide who to kill.
An old man walking by says, “When you laugh at someone’s pain, you’re dying inside,” and the model calls back, “No one’s in pain here, grandpa.”
Three-fourths of this feeling comes from starting over with Crystal again. An unusual fourth comes from the house’s wide windows.
Given her dearth of friends, Sadie did worry that her neighbors, mistaking her for a bird, would shoot her down.
What did it take to divert poisonous attention? Beauty. Sinful amounts of it.
Kay had promised Louis that she would stop getting so angry. She agreed with him that it didn’t do any good. But what did?
“We owe it to our children. We have to be able to do hard things. Whatever it takes.”
They do, however, believe in spirits, engkantos, and the bruha.
Social Security sends us checks every month to say sorry about our mom. A thousand sorries for me and a thousand sorries for Vivian, and we accept them all.
The blisters came two summers ago, after college. The biopsy came back inconclusive, so every month I go back to the office for a check-up.
What kind of story would you like to write?
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