Fiction

My path is to suffer and to suffer the suffering.

For several weeks after the accident your father refuses to use your brother’s name.

She pulls into her garage, one thing on her mind.

For once, the coach was paying attention.

That was why she wasn't with me at the fair that night, why she wasn't in the accident.

I'm lying on my back on a cushiony table in a private PT room as Marlene’s lubed-up finger inches its way into me.

The chicken was expired. It looked no different from the rest.

I’m not looking for anything in particular, but I’m looking for something.

She was not stupid. She was ready for her life to be changed.

I tell people my brother is Los Angeles. A synecdoche or stand-in.