Fiction

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Interpellation Made Simple: Or, The Tale of Charette Cadet

And after pointing out the way to the bathroom Charette found herself quickly scuttling away, if only to prevent herself from blurting out how another vous could earn him the special surprise of a cake with ground-up glass in it.

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Frank Bollinger Day

He was somebody all right, except of course for the bitter fact that he had been fired from every job he’d listed on his resumé. You’ve got to think the guy is either confident or nuts.

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The Sleeping Shags

Billy was somewhat ashamed of his father, embarrassed some as well, at his father’s now lethargic and flabby body. He decided that his ass would be the new target.

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New Amsterdam

The audience was still laughing at the story Kevin appeared to have told off the top of his head. It was more likely, as I knew, that he had written the entire anecdote out on the set list.

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Without Biting the Fruit of Knowledge

Eve dislikes being unable to see the floor.

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Thread

About the Mystery Man: He is being universally described as a hero.
It seems to be true. And I for one will say I am glad about it,
because we need heroes, and in recent times so many people have
bandied about the term for just about anyone, usually for political
purposes.

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A Woman Talking to Albatrosses About Monogamy

What got to me about Tim was his wanting the same things I did, his urge to understand everything. Nowadays I feel like I understand about all I can take.

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Demon Love Story

It’s as exciting as it was when you first met Satan, even accounting for the fact that then you were naive and now you’ve been around the block a few times.

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A Hard Truth About Waste Management

They would sit in their three chairs and watch their trash get sucked down into the hole at the bottom of the toilet, which had a permanent black ring smeared around it, and they would cheer and punch their fists together.

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Secretary

The best entertainments come from one’s own body.

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Amphibian

Dad’s presence had shed a sort of good light on everything, but with him gone we could all see each other better: My brother was good and deserved a lot, my mother was weak and needed care, and I was not a good person.

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Hurricanes in My Youth

Mama’s in her black stretch pants, red blouse loose and no bra and I can’t help but laugh at us two running, flopping, out this nasty old house, willow tree outside and them Portuguese boys from across the street climbing up it and looking in the window.

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Just Cock

There I was sitting on the couch trying to watch Sanford and Son and you wouldn’t stop belittling me. The final straw was calling me a "psychotic cocksucker."

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Separate

I don’t know how it happened, how he lost it. He won’t tell me, at least not the truth.

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Unsaid

This blue light beams down
on her and washes over all of us—it’s hypnotic—it
takes on different shades: there’s brilliant and cerulean
and cobalt and phthalocyanine and ultramarine and caribbean and
a turquoise that reminds me of being five years old—all in
perfect accord with the pacing and rhythm of her voice.

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    Identity Theory publishes fiction from new and up-and-coming writers, with special attention paid to promoting strong literary voices. To contribute a short story, read our fiction submission guidelines.