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.
Original fiction from Identity Theory. Subscribe: RSS
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.
The best entertainments come from one's own body.
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.
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.
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."
I don’t know how it happened, how he lost it. He won’t tell me, at least not the truth.
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.
Dad told us playing made you easy prey for the devil, like those idling rich folks who went crying to doctors and eating pre-peeled oranges on the way to hell, and he would have none of it.
Ms. Nature was cold and, despite the cigarette, still exasperated and weary.
I had no way of
telling which was mine, now that it was sundered and sullied, made
ordinary like the rest. I cried for the rest of the day.
I thought I was being clever, covering my ass. Turned out I was setting a match under it instead.
The collection of men, all dressed in deep black suits, chuckled. Phillip smiled with his lips pressed together.
"Which way for sporting goods?" I politely asked. She looked at me and then all around her, up, over the products, into the hazy distance.
Easy Luck sits in the corner, condensation on the glass of water in front of her gives the illusion of badly cut diamonds weeping.