Original fiction from Identity Theory. Subscribe: RSS

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.


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.

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.

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."


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.

Blood Test

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.


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.

Tyger, Tyger

"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.