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We were waiting for the mudslide and the night.
Sitcom Stars Storm the Beach At nightfall we ran aground. Faint stars and fainter tails of comets like bullwhips. Passengers fainting face first onto the sand. Turn them like this. Good. Make it more like the movies. We eureka-ed the MDMA powder with vacuum-like precision and soon enough our hands joined like people who […]
“In love not with scenery but with distance, light is a stranger in this universe, a traveler passing through at 186,000 miles per second. “
Austin Smith’s idea to write this Flash came from Joe Brainard’s famous book, I Remember.
He thinks things about me I do not want him to think. He stops at my desk, his cologne invasive. He leaves himself behind. He wants to take me with him. Anywhere I want to go. He asks if I want to go to Paris. He asks if I have eaten escargot. I tell him […]
The opaque yellow is the same as Serengeti—the color of elsewhere. Christophe, the light bulb maker, makes them the color of desert. Lighter than chardonnay. Before he meets her, Christophe believes adventure is for outcasts. Afterwards, he sees his bulbs in the shades of cardamom and camel. Alison is an original beauty, a girl who […]
Miss Laura had a son, once, but he became an Esquire man and was lost to her. His father was an Esquire man, so it shouldn’t have come as a big surprise. He always smelled like tobacco and ordered highballs and was certain he was able to speak to dogs, though the same neighbor’s Corgi […]
There was an argument over who got to eat the yellowest pollen. It was a craze. The bee’s knees! People clotted the park, all of them young, but with the skin-smooth benefits who could be sure? The sun was out. The pollen, famous, on the news. Carbohydrates. Protein content peeking a whopping 35 percent. I […]
We lay still in bed, out of sleep’s reach, buzzing electric in the dark. At the appointed time, we slipped from the house, careful not to wake the adults as we unlatched the back door. They’d packed us along on their family vacation, three girls for the price of one, and we were one—one mind, […]
There was no boat, he says. What do you mean? she says, and a hand goes up to fiddle with her hair, pulling it this way and that. No boat, he says again. There is a sigh rising inside him and there is something he wants to prevent, something he has to stop from boiling […]
Word was that no one in all of Hyannis, where I grew up, was supposed to dig for clams at Scantling’s Beach. There was talk about some girls who had come to field hockey camp or whatever kind of camp girls go to. They set off wandering one day, ended up at the beach, took […]
“See how it rocks back and forth, sister?” Uncle Vaughn wasn’t a big man, but with little more than a brush of his fingers, the stone fell forward and caught in the crook of rubble beneath. You could push it back from the other side, too, rocking it like a cradle. This boulder – roughly […]
When Amy told Gloria about the biopsy and lost test results, Gloria called Dr. Howard a matasanos, spitting the word over her cubicle. She translated for Amy. “It means killer of healthy people,” which sounded even more ominous in Gloria’s accent, the vowels sharpened scalpel-like.
I was slapping at the welts on my shins one green evening when you told me to suck on the head of a match. Sulfur, you said, would get in my blood and keep the mosquitoes away. One match a month was all it took, you told me. I went back to catching fireflies. […]
A strongman is lifting my car, his hands bolted tight to the front bumper. His trunky thighs and buttocks are facing streetward, and several women in the neighborhood have set up lawn chairs and are watching the spectacle from their front yards. His grunts are loud, like falling timber, and the birds perched on the roof have fled in search of friendlier shingles.
Weather grows from underground. Great storms explode, often from just below he soil, where they lie, begging to be let loose by a spade. When lightning strikes it’s like visiting a birthplace, digging to that brown pile of soil from which it sprung, to hide and be bright down there, amid the clouds below the soil. Sunburnt grandmothers knew this, and hated when their headstrong husbands went out to tend the gardens, unafraid of what weather they might unearth.
Salt wind had peeled the green, blue, and yellow paint from the Ferris wheel gondola that swept Joel and his family up into the night, sweetly launched them toward the evening star.
When I talked back, my father used to make me stand in the front yard holding milk jugs.
The wholesale casket warehouse is chilled with dry dust, and I look at Grandmother to make sure she’s serious. “With haste, missy,” she says. “Get in, I haven’t got all day. Just ask my doctors.”
The honey bee licks her forelegs and combs the pollen from her head. She stretches down the length of her thorax. What was once taut and hirsute now resembles the plundered stamen of a speedwell. She has been lost for six days. Her wings ache; an abnormal spasm pinches her bowels. She can hardly clock […]
We set out in the middle of the night and arrived at the station by daybreak.
No one knew quite what to do when they found the blonde-haired monkey with the thin golden face that looked like a byzantine saint. Large eyes – positioned close together in a flat profile resembling that of a painted idol – and a serious mouth set it apart from any image of a monkey the […]
It is time again to call my mother. I call her every day at noon. When she picks up today, she sounds great. A little winded, but energized. I can hear her treadmill whirring, her sneakered feet lightly thumping. “Where are you?” I ask. “Just passing over the Himalayas,” she says. “They’re lovely. They look […]
Wherever the cola bottles are, you’ll find me.
So, if Rome were a senior in college, Rome would look like this: Rome has a swimmer’s body—a tight smoothness. He doesn’t shave his chest, just has that God-given sculptured body, that “I take care of myself but not in a grossly exaggerated, body-builder way.” And of course, Rome is a swimmer. He would never […]