I was getting smoke in my eyes around the campfire when Jeremy and his crew walked past. They were like the lost boys. They stayed in whatever hideout they had, drank stolen beers, and groped […]
You wake up in the psych ward to discover that animal therapy day is canceled because the therapy dog has died. *** L Scully (they/them) is a queer writer and double Capricorn currently based in […]
Not a word about the man in the crushed-purple-velvet suit, cheetah-print-rimmed fedora—pointing the way towards the post-game-show—with his zirconia topped cane.
Content Note: descriptions of sexual abuse *** The first time he touches me, I pretend I am rabid dog and bite him. The first time he touches me, I pretend I am the burglar alarm. […]
This boy wonders what would happen if he were to swallow a square ice cube whole, one of those artisan whoppers concocted at hipster bars in Brooklyn. Would he suffocate before it melt? This boy guesses the […]
I wrote this in 2008. I had just left a job in the financial sector right before the crisis. My close friend and writing partner had just died, and when that happened, I put away […]
There is no story. There is literally no story in this story.
When speaking in one’s mother tongue, the flow of the sentence is intuitive. You weave the words together, synthesizing them into sentences that can be parsed without issues by your conversational partner. “It is,” “I […]