2 December 2016
It was the first time I entered Albert’s room. The room of the killer. I was afraid. A fear as palpable as the sweat that began to stain my shirt.
25 November 2016
The zombies weren’t supernaturally strong and they died just like anyone else if you shot them, and in Minnesota, where I lived, they mostly froze to death. Because it was January, and the ability to check a weather report and bring a coat is apparently a higher brain function.
18 November 2016
I’d told Diana I was giving up and cried on her shoulder and she’d held me and told me she was so sorry. Mo would have done the same, except she would have been angry for me too. Sometimes that’s just too exhausting.
11 November 2016
As Naomi stands in her kitchen, a hypodermic needle in her right hand, a bowl of Cheerios in her left, she wants very much to close her eyes, just for a few seconds.
4 November 2016
Art went out for beer and came back with a vintage Barcalounger. It was a wingback rattan recliner (spray painted gold) with orange Hawaiian print cushions (an obvious reupholstery.)
28 October 2016
My life complete, I write these words on the walls of your shrine. My ink is the burned ash of whatever material I can find. If I had blood, father, I would use that instead. When I die this evening, the desert will intrude once more, and we will be buried together.
21 October 2016
I see the ionized iron glowing in the distant Sun’s corona and the ammonia clouds swirling on the world below. I hear the constant information exchange in my innards. As my body wakes up, I taste a change in the ventilation systems. I’m gazing inside my own body and at the stars at the same time, and then—
14 October 2016
You have struggled for a long time as to whether you have a soul or not—whether anyone does—or if you’re only a gathering of restless and ginned-up personality traits brought together to fool yourself that there is, in fact, a you. As opposed to an unrecognizable someone-else.
7 October 2016
His eyes are molten puddles in the shadow of his brow and Mariam realizes he’s talking to her: “You don’t have to go out today. You can stay by the radio, if you like.”
30 September 2016
There isn’t so much a sunrise on these mountains; it’s more a lessening of the dark. I imagine someone turning a giant dimmer switch to brighten the valley.
Maybe I’ve been thinking too much about my mom.
23 September 2016
Nothing essential is sold in the city: you can find spun sugar here, and chocolates dusted with gold, but must go elsewhere for bread.
16 September 2016
I thought perhaps that the assault was just the baboon way, or that it was an initiation, or that I had trespassed on their territory. It turned out that, no, these baboons in particular were just assholes. Some baboons are nice.
9 September 2016
“We have a problem in the basement.” This from Kai, second only to Maya herself on the shift, and now having returned from the downstairs freezer bearing two great bags of shredded iceberg lettuce—bags he held, one under each arm, like trapped dirigibles, dirigibles of lettuce.
2 September 2016
It wasn’t until I got close enough to kiss her that I saw her pupils were slit like a cats, and when I kissed her, I felt her teeth were fangs. I asked her out to dinner and she said yes.
26 August 2016
“Do you love me?” I asked my husband, the night we were wed.
I had been told to ask. His answer was important to the College. It was not supposed to be important to me.
19 August 2016
It took Annie only two dates to figure out that Gary Boran was a werewolf. Maybe that should have been a reason for canceling the third date, but honestly, she’d been in Pittsburgh for nearly a year by then, and she’d had an awful lot of bad dates.