I don’t really know how it happened, all I know is that sometime before Martin Luther King Jr. Day in fourth grade, Jillian Dafotis creeped into part of my brain that was usually occupied by comic books and my older brother’s Super Nintendo.
Original fiction from Identity Theory. Subscribe: RSS
To hell with that piano, I thought. It had a dead note anyway.
I don't have any important memories. I have a bunch of stupid memories.
What the article didn’t report, because no one knew this, was that Davy was inadvertently responsible for Sam’s death.
I can't speak for the dirt-under-the-fingernails crowd, but as a white-collar working man, when I dress for work, I always include a belt. I think it says: I take this job seriously. I am a professional.
Tonight, in the sleeping bag, Mara takes off all her clothes. And that’s it: she takes off all of her clothes.
This woman was beautiful in a way that makes you sorry you were born.
Today’s my lucky day and I’m gonna take that thousand up to the Indians, triple my money on the $10 tables and Maxine’ll have birdhouses coming out her ass by tomorrow this time.
More than a year later, he showed us the jet pack. We lumbered up to the roof again, eyeing that sci-fi-looking junk strapped to his back, giggling our asses off.
I didn't like Cherie at first. Her ankles were too thick, which spoke of things in other parts of her body. And she was very tan, a dark, burnt orange kind of tan, which made those ankles look like roasted meat. You don’t want a woman to be edible in that way.
For a while there the dust settled, and I thought maybe things had gotten as bad as they were going to get. But I was wrong. Now, we steal electricity.
She walked past dark taverns where shadowed figures talked low
outside over cigarettes whose ends burned bright. She passed always
the ordinary figures in the brightly lit laundromat, of whom she
was inexplicably jealous.
He looked at me. All I could see were his eyeballs, brown amidst
white orbs. We shook hands firmly. A cloud of powder punctuated
I couldn’t hold my pencil in school, therefore I never learned to write cursive. But one thing I could do, I could throw a mean punch in any direction and this made kids run for cover.
He sought to erase her from his mind rather than to become plagued
by the weight of his inactions and her devilish silence. He believed
one should always prepare for the future by releasing the present
and dreaming the past.