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Category Archives: Fiction

His old pick-up had been their home for three and a half years of wandering until Bookie had gone inside. The truck was won in a fight, like everything else of value they’d had in those days.

Read “Native” by Jim Walke.

v. [with obj.] set (something) on fire

Alan’s father got a Kindle for his mother, and Alan handed it to me when she was done playing with it. We were at her parents’ – Alan’s grandparents’ – so there was no internet, which limited what you could do besides read the dictionary that comes loaded on there, and marvel at the non-backlit […]

Even a wedding, seven blessings and the glass stamped underfoot like a reminder of every broken thing, would have suited him more than the subway crush of a hot summer’s night, coming home from the fireworks: announcements too garbled to make out in the rattle and rush of darkness past the windows and Clare jammed up against an ESL advertisement and a black woman with the face of an aging Persian cat, sure she had lost her mind. But if she had, then so had every second person she had met since the Fourth of July; so had the universe, to let him slip through.

Read “The Dybbuk in Love” by Sonya Taaffe.

My fairies can resist strong winds and go where I wish them, according to the instructions I have laid into their ‘brains,’ which are based on the papers Babbage has published.

Read “Clockwork Fairies” by Cat Rambo.

“Tacky costume jewelry,” she said as if the quality of the earrings angered her more than their presence in her bedroom.

Read “In the Event of My Father’s Death” by Roxane Gay.

The terrain now is different from when he was younger.

Read “Big Boy Graveyard, Marquette, Michigan” by Jennifer A. Howard (via).

Fuck yeah oatmeal.

My Facebook status update last night was, “For the fifth night in a row, I am getting too little sleep. SUCK IT NEUROGENESIS.” and that goes double for tonight. I work at a hospital, and we’ve lost the person who was doing our FMLA/disability paperwork, so while they hire for that position, I am doing […]

I was angry when we had that fight, too. Our last fight, though I didn’t know that at the time. What did you expect me to say? You come in late and you’re bloody and filthy, and you tell me some story about “the fey,” and “faeries.” About the fey and our family and a war. You said, “I have to go, Mom. The Unseelie Court has taken the Southern Provinces, and only our family’s bloodline can save the High Ones.” It makes no sense. Those are things out of stories, out of books. I just want to know, Amanda—in what universe did you think I would not ask you what drugs you were on?

Read “No Return Address” by Sigrid Ellis.

Millionaires, we presume, and we agree that we hate them.

Read “Wedding Night” by Rebecca Makkai.

stealing lighters from the Shell

I’ve been busy today sending out submissions and lining up Seven by Twenty‘s tweets for December, and laughing at Allie Brosh‘s blog, which I have finally read back to the beginning of. Which feels like productivity, even though it gets me no closer to any of my life goals. Anyway, I’ve put some info on […]